Juliet of New Moon
by ruby gillis
Summary: COMPLETED! Emily of New Moon is all grown up, with grown-up children of her own. And her daughter Juliet's life is about to change on the eve of World War II.
1. 7 December 1941

"Juliet!" Emily Byrd Kent _nee _Star stood on the porch of her old beloved New Moon and rang the dinner bell again, with a smile, but with an impatient ferocity. Truthfully, Emily had never been especially patient. It was never extolled as one of her virtues. But as the mother of two teenage children--especially one like Juliet Starr Kent--has sent the last tattered remnants of Emily's patience packing and out the door. Patient or impatient, though, Emily still found enough beauty around her in the ice-covered trees and the December starlight to give her the flash of yore. For a minute Emily was able to forget the events playing out thousands of miles away, in Europe--the bombs falling, the people huddled in broken cellars; the Women's Red Cross at home and the sugar ration. She stood for a moment, ringing the bell that echoed like fairy calls on the night air and looking about dreamily. 

Presently, a figure appeared at the door of the barn and made elaborate hand signals at her mother and her brother, who had appeared for dinner when summoned, like the good boy he was. 

"What on _earth_ is she trying to convey?" said Emily haughtily. While not known for her patience Emily had been known for her haughtiness. She was one of the proud Murrays, after all. 

"She's coming in a minute," said Douglas, who was Juliet's twin, and understood her better than everyone else. 

Juliet disappeared back inside and emerged again a moment later, her pockets loaded with the last of the season's apples. She flew like a little red bird in her cape across the snowy fields, which even at this hour were a tranquil bluish in the moonlight. 

"Isn't wintertime lovely?" asked Juliet, appearing suddenly before them. "It gets darker earlier--we get more moonlight that way. Moonlight is _so_ bewitching. I like it ever so much better than sunlight, and nighttime very much better than day."

Emily, who had been thinking the exact same thing, thawed a trifle. 

"You're not the first one to feel like that, you monkey," she said with a loving smile--for who could help loving Juliet? She was--in a word--lovable. "But oh ho! Give over those apples--they're the last for this year and we need them for the Christmas pies."

In response Juliet cheekily took a huge bite of the juiciest apple of the bunch, twirling out of her mother's reach enough so that her cloak swung open and they saw her shirtwaist. 

"Jul-i-et!" Emily gasped. "Have you been rolling around in mud puddles to get you skirt so dirty?"

"I was _helping_ Father clean his paintbrushes," Juliet said. "And what is one shirtwaist when compared with such _art_? Oh, Mother, Mrs. Kenneth Ford--Rilla Blythe Ford, you know--came to sit for her portrait today and she is so beautiful. With lovely, coppery hair--oh, Mother, sometimes I wish that I had copper-colored hair. I wished for it today so hard that when I looked in the mirror and saw my dull old hair I thought it must be a mistake. I wish I were beautiful. It hurts me so that I'm not--but if I can't be beautiful I'd like to have hair like Rilla Ford's."

"No, no," laughed Emily. "No copper hair in this family, I'm afraid. Only tipped ears and smoky gray eyes. And you are a beautiful girl, Juliet--or you could be, if you weren't always getting into messes. Douglas here keeps himself so orderly--how you can be brother and sister is beyond me. Run upstairs and change your clothes before supper."

"Douglas has no fun--no fun at all, that's how he keeps so neat," griped Juliet as she whirled off to do her mother's bidding--but not before stopping and standing on her tiptoes and giving Doug a kiss--so that he'd know she was only teasing after all.

* * *

Juliet loved New Moon as much as her mother did, and wished she had been born here. Evensong--where she and Douggie had been born--was a lovely little cottage--but it didn't seem like it had even been home like New Moon was. It was where Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Dean and Bella stayed in during summers that they were on the Island. Juliet loved New Moon so that she wanted to live her life--her entire life--within its walls. She wanted the old house to know her--to love her--to remember her when she was gone. 

She stopped off in the bathroom to wash her face and then slipped across her hall to change into clean clothes for supper. But before dressing she stood in her slip and studied herself in the full-length mirror in her little over-the-stairs bedroom. 

She was very tall--that's what struck Juliet first about her appearance. So tall that she almost had to bend her knees to see her face in the mirror. That was ridiculous. Mother and Father were both tall, but not ridiculously so. Juliet was already a head taller than Doug. Aunt Elizabeth Murray, Juliet was told, has also been tall. Juliet did not remember Aunt Elizabeth, who had died when she was a baby, but wished every now and then that she'd been a little smaller. 

She had a lot of very black, very thick, very wavy hair. Masses of it. Gobs of it. Perhaps she should have it cut and permed like Bea Miller's? Aunt Ilse was so fashionable to let her--she got hers cut and styled too! Mother only wore hers pulled back in a braid or a pony-tail--but somehow that suited Mother. Juliet did not want to lop off her beautiful strands. She thought her hair her only beauty and was fervently and secretly proud of it. 

She was wrong--her tumbling masses of dark waves were not her only beauty. She had lovely, tip-tilted eyes that were not an almost-violet like her mother's but more of a bluish-gray. They were fringed with lashes as thick and dark as her hair. Her forehead was high but not too high--her nose was small and didn't turn up at the end like Bea's. Juliet gave it a pat but then shook her head mournfully. 

"Juliet Kent!" she breathed. "Why, you aren't beautiful--but you're me! And I've changed my mind--I don't know if really I would want to be beautiful, like Mrs. Ford. It makes you everyone else's property somehow. This way I can just be me--and go where I please--whither and whence--like a little spring breeze!" 

Juliet smiled over the small poem she'd made without intending to and thought for a moment of writing it down. When she had been younger she'd had a Jimmy-book of her own which she filled with poetry. But she'd tired of that. She kept a diary--but was not as fanatical about writing as Mother was. Nor did she fancy herself a great artist, like Father, though he had always encouraged her to draw. 

"I like both, plus dancing, and singing, and playing the piano, and cooking!" she told herself. "But I want to be different! I want to love and be loved and be happy. I don't care what else I do, as long as I can do that!" 

"Juliet!" Came a voice from downstairs. Father's. "Hurry down, please, we're starving." The entire family emitted piteous moans of hunger and Juliet giggled. She threw on her pink sweater and her gray kilt, and pulled up her kneesocks,. She tied the laces of her saddle oxfords--and wished for a moment that they were the sweet pink ones that Bella had had on her last visit. She wound her hair into a braid as she skipped down the stairs.

"Here I am!" she crowed, stepping into the warm, good-smelling kitchen, and preparing to emit a few hunger-moans of her own. But dinner was already on the table. No one was eating it. They weren't laughing, either, though they had been a short time ago. Doug--Mother--Father--all of them looking stricken at each other as the news programme on the radio droned on and on. 

"What's everyone looking so peevish for?" Juliet snapped, sitting down. It was just like them to spoil her good mood. 

"Good God," said Father, as if he had not heard her. 

"What does it mean?" Douglas asked. "Father--Mother--what does this mean?"

"What does what mean?" Juliet said, her heart beginning to beat faster now. "What's happening? What's going on?"

"The Japanese have bombed Pearl Harbor," Father said, slapping his knee. "I'll be! I'll be! I guess Roosevelt can't keep out of it now."

"The United States will join the war," said Douglas. "Things'll start picking up now. I bet we have the Germans--and the Japs--licked by this time next year, with the States on our side."

Juliet felt suddenly put out. War, war, war--it was all they talked about anymore! She missed the old days when they talked and chattered around the dinner table. When they could have as much sugar--and flour--as they wanted. When she could have a new pair of leather oxfords every years--now the leather and rubber used to make them were all needed for the war effort. Before she had had to spend tedious afternoons making socks and bandages with the Junior Red Cross that Bella Priest had organized. Before the radio was on all the time. Before they had air raids drills at the school. Heavens! Nothing was going to happen to them here, on little Prince Edward Island. It was--ridiculous!

"Mother, may I be excused? I want go over to see Bea and Allan?" said Juliet, standing. 

But Mother, eyes shining, was making her own victory predictions with Father and Doug. Juliet slipped away from the table, grabbed her cape, and set off cross-lots, through the snowy fields. 


	2. Young and in Love

"Jewel! Darling!" Aunt Ilse greeted Juliet at the door. "Come in, sweetums, your cheeks are all reddened from the cold. It does give you marvelous color though. Perry! Juliet's here--and doesn't she have marvelous color in her face?"

"Marvelous," Uncle Perry agreed. "She's just a picture of Emily at that age. Tell me, Jewel, are they listening to this over at home?" Uncle Perry gestured at the radio. 

"Of course--it's all we listen to--we haven't heard the Big Band programme since nineteen thirty-nine," Juliet snapped. 

Aunt Ilse laughed. "I know, it's hard to keep current with this--radio _embargo_. I feel dreadfully behind the times. I remember the Lindy Hop--but from there it's all a big blank." Aunt Ilse did a very poor rendition of the Charleston. 

Juliet smiled in spite of herself. "That's not how it goes."

"Show me!" Aunt Ilse crowed and grabbed Juliet's hand. The two of the Lindy-hopped across the room, laughing. How fun Aunt Ilse was--how stylish. Her hair was still golden--although she'd confided to Juliet once that she had it _dyed_ once a month at the hairdresser in Charlottetown. She wouldn't have it done over at the Shrewsbury Clip and Curl, where everyone would spread it around that Ilse Miller was going to seed! She was always so happy and laughing--though Juliet had heard Mother and Father talking once about the little girl that she and Uncle Perry lost. How could Aunt Ilse find it in her to laugh after _that_? Juliet leaned over and gave her a kiss, and the two met eyes and laughed--over nothing. That was the best kind of laugh. 

"Hey now! We can't hear the news! Cut it out."

The voice came from Allan Miller, who was sitting by the fire with Uncle Perry. Juliet hadn't seen him there. She let go of Aunt Ilse's hand and sidled over to him now. 

Hello, Allan," she said.

Allan looked up at her with his liquid eyes and Juliet's heart gave a thump- -of what? It did not feel like love, although she knew she was supposed to love Allan--or at least, like him very much. She was his girl--secretly, of course. She was not really old enough to have a true love. Not that anyone would really disapprove. Mother and Father and Aunt Ilse and Uncle Perry always joked that there would be a match one day between the two. They'd been joking about it for years--must have been ever since Allan, who was six months younger than Juliet and Douglas, was born. Juliet had blushed and her heart had fluttered in years past when they said this. True, Allan was very handsome. He was a ruddy, handsome lad of seventeen, with golden hair and blue, blue eyes and an honest, freckled face. But now--Juliet wasn't so sure. She couldn't marry Allan--could she? At least, not any time soon. Not when she hadn't kissed a _dark_-haired boy yet!

"Juliet, if you're just going to stand there and stare at me, I do wish you'd go up to Bea," Allan said grumpily. "You're distracting me, and I'm trying to listen to the report."

Juliet felt her eyes smart suddenly with tears. Allan kept on listening and took no notice of her. She turned and started up the stairs to Bea's bedroom. 

"Darling!" Aunt Ilse appeared beside her in a whirl of color. "Oh, Jewel, forgive him his trespasses--he knows not how rude he is, really! He's got Burnley blood in him--the Burnleys all think of themselves and nothing more. But we grow out of it by the time we're twenty-one--mostly. When the time comes, he'll make you a good husband. He's wild for you already--but stubborn--pig-headed."

Juliet gave a weak grin. _When the time comes_oh, she did not want it to come. But--at the same time--she did. Badly. How could one feel both dread and love--at the same time?

* * *

Bea had her own radio in her room. Not even Bella had her own radio, and Uncle Dean and Aunt Elizabeth were the richest people Juliet knew--the richest people in Shrewsbury. Priest Pond, their winter home, was so splendid that it made Juliet's heart want to burst with loveliness--though it was not as lovely as New Moon. 

Bea was sitting on her bed with the music turned down low. She was bobbing one penny-loafer clad foot to the beat. In the slots on her shoes she'd inserted American pennies. 

"Oh! Juliet!" she said, looking up. "Come here, let me show you this _dee_-vine picture I found in this magazine." Bea rummaged around in a folder and withdrew the clipping she was looking for. "Clark Gable--mmm! What a face! How Scarlett O'Hara could _ever_ have been so mean to him I'll never know. Even if I had to act, in a movie, I could never be mean to him! I'd be like--putty in his hands." At this Bea winked suggestively, and raised an eyebrow. 

Juliet giggled again. Beatrice Miller was a sweet girl--she fooled no one with her attempts at mischief. She had the same open, honest face as Allan and Uncle Perry, freckles that dotted over her cheeks, and shoulder-length curls that looked like spun sugar. Juliet thought what a pity it was that Bea had inherited none of Aunt Ilse's exotic loveliness. She _was_ a beautiful girl, but in a safe, familiar way. 

"Is Doug downstairs? I didn't hear him come in."

"No, he's home with Father and Mother, listening to the news programme." Juliet flopped down on the bed and wrinkled her nose. 

"I understand that," said Bea, cutting another picture from her film magazine. "I think if Father or Allan are away from the radio for one _second_ their heads will explode and their bodies turn to dust."

Juliet laughed at the thought, and then sobered. "Bea--you don't think--that it will touch us here? Do you? The war--I mean, what has it got to do with us. We've sent some troops--the Irish brigade went long ago--back in '39. It will be over soon. And it won't come here?"

"I don't know," said Bea thoughtfully. "If it keeps up much longer our boys will be eighteen and start to think of enlisting. Allan already talks about it night and day. He'll be eighteen next year. It drivers Mother mad when he says it. She gets this hunted look on her face." 

"Doug's never mentioned it," said Juliet. "But oh--I don't think he would go. Can you imagine Douglas fighting a _war_?"

She laughed, but it was hollow. She had never thought about Douggie fighting in the war before--but now--she did. She thought about him huddled in muddy trenches "somewhere in France," with the glare of bombs bursting weirdly in the night sky, like hundred of mini-suns. She shivered. 

"I can't imagine it," said Bea, "But then, I can't imagine Allan fighting in one, either. This is boring. Can't we talk about film stars? Who's handsomer--Clark Gable or Tyrone Power. You choose."

But Juliet had flown downstairs. She heard Aunt Ilse and Uncle Perry talking in low voices in the kitchen. Allan was still sitting in front of the fire, staring into it moodily. Juliet glanced around stealthily and then kissed him. When she pulled away, she and Allan looked directly into each other's eyes. 

"What was that for?" he asked. 

"It's just that--I don't want--to lose you," Juliet said. "I had this nightmare--only I was awake--of you--and Douggie--enlisting." She tried to laugh. "Ridiculous, isn't it? You would never--do--that."

Allan started to respond but Auntie Ilse bustled back in the room with tea and scones--"Made without sugar, but _dee_-licious all the same!" Allan just pressed Juliet's hand and tried to convey what he meant that way. 

As she walked home in the crisp, starry night, Juliet had a tight, fluttery feeling in her chest. She told herself it was natural. She was young, and in love. What else could it possibly be?


	3. A Whirlwind of Change

Father and Douglas were right--things did begin to intensify after the United States joined the war. Not only overseas--but on the home front as well. Everything seemed to revolve around the war. In English class they wrote encouraging letters to the Canadian boys in Europe and the South Pacific. Bea wrote a different letter to each one, full of charming sentiments, and dabbed perfume on the envelope and kissed it. Sometimes she included pictures of herself. "Might as well give them _some_ sort of motivation," she giggled. "They'll try all the harder to protect Mother Canada when they know there's a cute girl like _me_ living here!"

Juliet always wrote the same thing: _Thank you for so bravely protecting our country, and may God bless you_. She tried to include a few lines about what was happening in the news when she wrote, what films were playing, what records were out. But mostly they were all the same. What was she supposed to write? _I hope you don't die_? Should she add flirtatious comments like Bea?

After school the boys collected scrap metal and sold war-bonds door-to-door, while the girls sewed bandages and socks in the Church hall, which had become the official meeting place of the Junior Red Cross. Juliet hated it--she would much rather be sewing her new dress for the Valentine's Day dance. It was a lovely, smoky blue--the exact color of her eyes. With a matching crinoline and the most sophisticated little silver shoes from Uncle Dean. She would be escorted to the dance by Allan. Of course. 

But after a while Juliet began to like the sewing circle. Girls from all over their side of the Island came. It was easier to get things done with a larger group of girls. Juliet started looking forward to seeing Trudy Ford, who was the beautiful Rilla Ford's daughter. She was a sweet girl. Her cousin, Joyce Meredith, was a bit haughty but a hard-worker. Little Lorraine Guest from over in Harmony was too young to really be of help but she fetched drinks and refreshments for the rest of them, and her little brother, Lesley, entertained the group with hilarious song and dance routines, which he made up as he went along.

At home they put blackout curtains up at the windows to keep the lights from showing. Not that they had the lights on after dark anyway. Electricity was supposed to be rationed. So was kerosene, for the lanterns. So Mother rooted around in the shed and found the old candle-molds that had been used at New Moon in the olden days. The inhabitants of that house went back to the old candle-light tradition. 

"Aunt Elizabeth always held fast to the one candle per night rule," said Mother. "She always hated electric lights. I imagine she's up in heaven, smiling at us now."

"If she can see through the blackout curtains," Douglas joked. 

Uncle Dean and Aunt Elizabeth put the kibosh on their plans to travel in Europe this spring. They always went to Italy for Bella's birthday--it was where she had been born. Last year there had been some places of the continent that were untouched by war. They had spent a lovely summer in Greece. But this year the threat had spread too wide. No place was safe--it was better to stay home. 

Other friends were returning from abroad as well. Mother had a letter in the post one day. 

"It's from Sara Stanley!" she cried. "You all remember her--well, she was here when you were children, after filming the movie version of _Lost Charlotte_. She and her family have been living in England these past twenty years or so, and now they are finally back on the Island, to wait out the war. Living in the old King homestead, in Carlisle. How wonderful that she is back--we've been writing letters for years and now we'll finally be able to meet again!" 

Mother went on and on--Miss Stanley's husband was a newspaper editor--they had three children--two older girls and a boy, who was Juliet and Douglas's age. Juliet wasn't really interested--she was far more excited about the dance. Should she wear her hair up or down? If she wore it up no one might notice how lovely it was--and it wasn't being vain, because it really was her only good feature! And someone might see that terrible mole on her next. Down--she would wear it down. 

* * *

The dance was held on St. Valentine's day, in the same chuch hall where the Junior Reds met during the week. Only it wasn't to be a Valentine's Day dance anymore--they were calling it a Victory Dance, and charging admission--the profits would go toward the war effort. Juliet was buoyant with excitement on the drive over. She loved the feeling of the night air rushing over her face and whipping her hair. She loved the feel of the velvet on her skin. When they parked, she smiled around at everyone, even people she didn't know. She was so happy!

Until Allan spoiled it all by taking her arm in a very proprietary way. Juliet wanted to shake him! He was so sure of himself--so sure that she would always be there, waiting for him. That she would always be _happy_ to hang on his arm. Again she got that stifled feeling in her chest that she had once mistaken for love. 

The hall was lit up with paper lanterns and lace doilies cut into the shapes of hearts. The swing band from over-harbor was playing. Half the couples were leaping all over the place and the other half were mooning all over each other in dark corners. It was sickening, all of this pretended romance. Juliet knew which kind of those couples Allan wanted to be and steered him toward the dance floor instead. They began to jive--Allan was really an exceptional dancer. But so was she. They moved together as if they'd been dancing together all their lives--which they had. Juliet had a distant memory of Aunt Ilse teaching them to waltz together when they were only children! Oh--why had Juliet never noticed before how the grown-ups were always pushing them together. It was like--an _arranged_ marriage or something. As if she, Juliet, had no say in the matter at all. 

She was momentarily angry--until she saw Allan's happy face over her shoulder as he twirled her. She did love him. But not in that way. Not the way everyone expected. She loved him in a completely different way entirely. 

Juliet was just going to think about what exactly that way was, but the music stopped, and everyone began to clap. Allan put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. And Juliet turned her head every so slightly to the left, toward the sound--and her life changed forever. 

It was the first time she saw _him_. She would never forget it. 

A/N: Thanks to Terreis for alerting me to some historical mistakes!


	4. The First Time She Saw Him

__

He was very tall, with broad shoulders and a head of curly, dark brown hair. He had dark, soulful eyes that crinkled at the corners when he laughed. His lips were very red. Juliet remembered after thinking that--and wondering what it would be like to kiss them.

He was in a uniform of some sort. She couldn't place it. _Was_ it Canadian? And he was looking at her. She felt Allan move off toward the refreshments table. Oh please, let him not come back too soon. Let _this_ wonderful creature come over to her. She _needed_ to dance with him. There he was--not two feet away--would he pass her by? No--he was stopping. He was holding out his hand. Would the band _never_ start playing? 

They did, and _he_ grinned, his eyes crinkling in that way she already knew and loved. Yes, loved! _This_, oh, _this_, was what it was supposed to feel like. 

It was a slow, romantic song--just a few minutes ago, _had_ she been ridiculing romance? How could she have done that? Juliet took his hand and danced with _him_ as if she had been dancing with _him_ her entire life, not Allan. 

Would he not speak to her? Oh, they did not need to speak. Still--she wanted to hear his voice. But what would she say to him. Juliet racked her brain. 

"Do--you--know what this song is called?" she asked--prosaically. She wanted to kick herself. Why? Why couldn't she have said something bewitching?

"It's 'Autumn,'" he said, his eyes crinkling again. He was a lovely voice--low and deep. With a hint of an English accent--and a hint of Canadian. 

"Autumn!" Juliet said. "It seems--silly--to sing about autumn in the springtime." She flushed again. Poor Juliet. It was still winter but already it felt like spring to her young heart. 

"It's not silly," said _he_, not noticing anything amiss. Perhaps he felt the same. "Listen to the words." And he sang them softly in her ear: 

__ __

Autumn

Shall we all meet in the Autumn?

Golden and glowing by Autumn

Shall we still be best of friends?

Best of friends...

All through each languorous season

We ebb and flow

Romance, defying all reason

Will come, then go

Still, perhaps this Autumn

Love won't retreat in the Autumn

All that we have won't be past

...Won't be past

Let breezes blow

And turn cold

As we continue growing old,

This Autumn

Love newly found

May yet last.

"It's beautiful," said Juliet wisely. "And lovely--and true."

"Like _you_," he said, suddenly earnest. "I feel--as if--I'd known you in a past life, or something."

"You did," she said seriously--but them dimpled. "Don't you remember?"

"Yes--I've got it now," he said. "We were tragic lovers--cruelly separated--torn away from each other--destined to roam another day and age to find each other. We've been searching all of our lives. I do believe my name once, _was_ Romeo. What's yours?"

She smiled. "Juliet."

"No," he laughed. "In this day and age."

"It _is_ Juliet. I'm Juliet Kent," said the maiden of that name, laughing. 

His eyes were laughing--and very dark and deep. "That's enough of an omen for me," said he--and he kissed her. "But then--I've always been easily pleased."

* * * 

How good it felt to slip away from the stifling hall and walk down to the shore--with _him_! They walked in the surf--Juliet's silver slippers already spoiled by the sand and water. They walked until the lights of the hall were like firefly lanterns in the distance. He kissed her several more times--until Juliet broke away and said, 

"Oh! I don't even know your name. Tell it to me quick so that I can know who it is that I--"

She almost said _who it is that I _love. But stopped herself. 

"My name is Blair King," he said, taking her hand. "I lied. It was never Romeo."

Juliet giggled. "Blair King," she said. "Blair King! I know who you are!"

"Yes, the past life regression has brought it out of you. You remember when we roamed the sand of time together--"

"No! I _know_ who you are. You're Sara Stanley's son. My mother--Emily Starr Kent--and _your_ mother are friends. We met when we were children, I think, once. I don't remember you. I remember two little girls, but not you."

"Charlotte and Rachel, my sisters," said Blair. "And it was _your_ Mother who wrote that charming book, The Moral of the Rose. My sisters read it over and over until their copy fell apart. And how extraordinary this is! To come all this way to find my dear childhood friend." He gave an exaggerated bow and said, "_So_ good to see you again, m'dear. My, how you've grown. Tell me about what you've been up to these past fifteen years?"

Juliet giggled. "What about you? Are you in the army? Mother never said."

"The Air Force--the Royal Air Force, or RAF. British. I'm a British citizen, you know. Was born there. I joined up at my last birthday. I'm only just eighteen. Came over here on my last leave--I sail tomorrow and ship out next week."

Juliet put her hand to her throat. He couldn't mean--that he was--_leaving_? But he'd just gotten here! And would she see him again? Not for a long, long time--and then it hit her--if at all. He might _die_ overseas. People did, every day. Why would he be any different just because she loved him. 

She began to cry, turning from him--and that's when she saw Allan, looking down from the small bluff overhead. His face was red and he was out of breath. 

"Juli-et!" he gasped. "I've been--looking all over for you! Phew! Bella Priest said she saw you forced off by a strange man. No offense," he said to Blair, who smiled blandly, and somewhat confusedly. "Bella must've seen wrong."

"No offense taken," said Blair. "And you are?"

"Oh! Blair King this is Allan Miller," said Juliet. To Allan, "Blair is Sara Stanley's son! You remember Mother talking about her? The actress? An old family friend."

She didn't like the pleading note in her voice. But Allan's face had turned so red, and angry. 

"Lovely to meet," he said to Blair. "Juliet, let's go back to the dance."

He took Juliet's arm--again, she hated it! She would have struggled free--but something in Blair's face stopped her. He looked as if he had suddenly gone cold--dead inside. _Why_ didn't she shove Allan off and run back to him? Lord knows she wanted to! But she didn't. They left Blair standing their by the bluff, alone, as the waves rolled steadily in. 

* * * 

Allan did not leave Juliet's side again for the rest of the night. He danced with her, and coddled her, and complimented her on everything from her hair--which had been mussed by the wind--to her shoes--which were sandy from her walk on the beach. Occasionally she caught other girls looking at her enviously. Rhonda Pearl, for example. And Barbara Jessup. Both of them were wild for Allan Miller. When he only had eyes for her, Juliet! And she only had eyes for one man--and he was dancing this one with Bea, across the room, and would not meet her eyes. How funny it all was. Funny--and stupid--and tragic.

The band played, "California, Here I Come!" and then "We'll Meet Again," the last song. Juliet took advantage of the rush of people toward the coatroom and let go of Allan's hand. She must find Blair--before he left--!

In her haste she ran smack into someone. Looking up, she smiled and gasped in relief. It was him! 

"Blair," she said, taking his hand. 

"Yes?" he said flatly, with some sort of hurt behind his eyes. 

"I--wanted--to ask," Juliet faltered. "If--I could--write to you. While you are away."

"What would your boy-friend say about it?" Blair asked sadly. 

Juliet didn't care about the throng of people. She stood on her tiptoes--yes, he was that tall!--and kissed him. They broke apart, and he was already rooting in his pocket for a paper and pencil. He wrote his information down, and took her hand, and tucked the paper in it. 

"Shall we all meet in the Autumn?" he sang, smiling. 

"God, I hope so!" Juliet said fervently. "And if not--if it is not over by then--and you aren't back--I'll think of you. On the first day of Autumn--all day."

As if she would not be thinking of him _every_ day!

"It'll be our special day," he said. "Goodbye."

And just like that he was gone. Juliet stood, and watched him go. She felt someone grab hold of her hand. 

"Isn't he wonderful?" Bea said fiercely, her eyes glowing with adoration. "He danced two dances with me, Juliet--that's all, but I remember every look he gave me, every word he said. I love him! How glad I am that you--and Allan--otherwise I would have thought _you_ loved him, too. But I was just being silly. Oh, Juliet, I'm going to write him. I don't know his address--I didn't want to seem too forward--but I'll find it out and write him."

Juliet, the one person in the room who could have helped her in her search, just smiled, and shoved the scrap of paper Blair had given her into the pocket of her overcoat. 

"I'm glad for you," she said to Bea, so brightly, that she almost forgot she didn't mean it. 

A/N: 'Autumn' is from the musical _Titanic_. Music & Lyrics by MAURY YESTON.


	5. 1942

Juliet _did_ write to Blair--many times. At first there was no answer back. Juliet remembered the terrible coldness in his eyes when Allan had interrupted them on the shore. But then--a letter came! It was witty and full of humor and somehow made the horrors of war seem brave and valiant instead. Juliet put pen to paper every week--sometimes two or three times a week if a lot was happening. Blair didn't write back quite as frequently. But then, there _was_ a war going on!

* * * 

_16 March 1942_

Dear Blair, 

I hope this letter finds you in good health and humor. How you are able to write so casually of the day to day rumblings of war I will never knowit must be a coping mechanism of some sort? Or maybe you are just naturally good-tempered, and able to make the best of a bad situation. I believe the latter--don't forget, even though I don't know you very well in this life, we have been acquainted in a previous one! 

This has to be short--the price of ink has gone up--again. You know Mother is a writer, naturally, this is a devastating blow to our household finances. 

Beatrice Miller mentioned to me that she was writing to you regularly--I think that's good. It must be nice to have all the support and good wishes you can get during a time like this. But--she mightn't understand if she knew I was writing to you, too--Bea doesn't believe in past life regressions. So you don't have to mention it, if you don't wish to... 

Be careful--I'll write again soon, and I want my letter to find you in one piece.

__

Love, Juliet. 

* * * 

Juliet felt disloyal to Allan by writing to Blair. But then, Juliet felt disloyal to Blair--and herself--by going around with Allan. She tried to limit her time with the latter by throwing herself headlong into the war-effort. She sold heaps of war-bonds in her first month and earned a gold star pin, and a letter from Lord Tweedsmuir commending her on her efforts. The Junior Reds upped their productivity as well, and held elections for new officers. To her surprise and delight, Juliet was elected Treasurer. Trudy Ford was Secretary, and Bella Priest Vice President. Joyce Meredith, naturally, was the President, and Juliet grudgingly had to admit that the job was perfect for her--she was bossy enough to handle it!

Their first order of business was to set up a concert to raise money for the troops. 

* * * 

_9 June 1942_

Dear Blair, 

__

We've just got home from the_ premier event of the summer--a fund-raising concert put together by the Junior Reds--including yours truly. I'm sure you've heard all about it from your mother and sisters. How lucky we were to get the famous Sara Stanley to recite. She was so moving and eloquent. I think people gave double when they heard her voice--she is so inspiring! How does she manage to give the impression of being such a young girl when she is a grown woman? I'll never know--but I made a vow to myself that I shall try to be as cheerful and delightful as she when I am married, with children of my own. If I could be as charming as your mother--as clever as my own--and as beautiful as Aunt Ilse I do believe I would be the perfect woman!_

Aunt Ilse recited tonight, too. She studied elocution when she was younger--my age. One of the selections she read was the poem by John McCrae: 

In Flanders fields the poppies grow

Between the crosses row on row

__

It gave me the shivers and I thought of how you wrote about flying up in the sky, looking down on those rows and rows of crosses when you crossed over Flanders. 

I played the piano for Cecilia Blythe and Bella Priest, who sang a duet. It was so beautiful--I was listening so intently at one point that I stopped playing--and got all flummoxed--but was luckily able to pick it up at the right place. I don't think anyone noticed the mistake but oh! How embarrassed I was. My face just burned.

The June lilies are out in Lofty John's Bush. And how white the moonlight is tonight! Is it as beautiful to you, wherever you are? Sometimes, when you are flying along at night, do you feel you could reach right up and pluck it out of the sky? I do. 

With love, Juliet. 

* * *

"Why don't you let me kiss you anymore?" Allan asked, one night, as he and Juliet walked along in the Murray graveyard. It was a delightful, crowded graveyard, full to the brim with Murrays and their ilk. Sometimes when the night wind was fitful, Juliet imagined that the noise came from her clan bickering. She imagined them sitting on their tombstones and shouting at one another. All except for Aunt Laura--she would sit peacefully by and watch, from the fringes. Juliet remembered Aunt Laura. She'd been so sweet. But the rest of the Murrays hadn't exactly been a peaceful group in their lives--why should anyone imagine that they would be in the one that came after? 

"I suppose--it doesn't feel right, with all that's going on," Juliet faltered. "Everyday we hear about more and more casualties. I suppose I don't feel right--that anything good should happen to me--when good things will happen no more to so many."

It was true, but it was not the whole truth.

* * *

__

20 August 1942

Dear Blair, 

How glad we all were to hear the news that you are well--and how terribly scared we were to hear of your close call! When Mother told me that your plane had been shot down, my heart stopped. I swear it did_--I've never felt so horribly still in all my life. How lucky--I thank God that it wasn't over enemy territory. Oh, darling, you must be more careful--and come back to me in one piece. Because--I can't live without you. I love you. _

I wrote those last three sentences without thinking, or censoring myself, and I'm leaving them in because I feel risky tonight. You are so brave--and I can be brave, too. Not on the same scale as you, of course, but in my own little way. You needn't say it back to me. I just wanted to tell you. I'm not looking for reciprocation, just a general airing of feelings. There's a great, full moon overhead while I write this, and if my declaration isn't welcome, if you don't feel the same, you can just chalk it up to a silly young girl who's let the moonlight go to her head. 

Be careful. Be well. And there have been enough professions of love in this letter already, so I'll just sign myself,

Juliet. 

* * *

"He's written me four letters--and this makes five!" Bea said, handing a sheaf of papers to Juliet to peruse. "Only he always signs them, 'Yours, Blair.' Why can't he write _love_? Julie--Juliet! Do you think Blair King _could_ be falling in love with me?"

"Stranger things _have_ happened," said Juliet lightly. She thought of her own letters from Blair, tucked in the little cubbyhole in the mantlepiece of her little room. The one she received yesterday made thirty-three, in all. 

* * *

_21 September 1942_

__

Blair, dearest, 

__

It's the first of Autumn--and I'm thinking of you. Are you thinking of me? It's strange--and wonderful--and thrilling to think that halfway around the world someone is thinking of me--and loving me. 

I love you, too.

Juliet. 

__ __


	6. Sweet Sorrow

Allan Miller was eighteen on the first of February. He went into town on the second and came back in khaki. 

Uncle Perry and Aunt Ilse burned with pride. Beatrice did, outwardly. When she was around other people she laughed and looked as if she could burst with pride. She wore a Canadian flag pin on her lapel. But it was an act, and nothing more. 

"My big brother--my big brother!" she sobbed, holed up in Juliet's bedroom, the only place where she felt she could allow her patriotic façade to fade, and let her true feelings show. "What shall I do without him? We are twins--as much as you and Douglas are. We are only nine months apart, you know. Oh, Juliet, what if he is hurt--maimed--killed? I hate this war, for taking Allan. I hate Canada for asking him to go." Bea ripped the maple pin from her coat and flung it across the room. 

"Allan wouldn't want you to think that way, dearest," said Juliet, guiltily. Here was Bea, pouring her heart out to her, and she, Juliet, had been sneaking behind her back with letters to Blair. For months and months--almost a years' worth of months. 

"Mother--and Father--won't let me cry about it," Bea wept. "And Allan won't talk to me if he sees I _have_ been crying. He gets so angry."

"We'll get you a cold compress for your eyes," Juliet soothed. 

"You're--so--lucky--that Douglas isn't going," said Beatrice between sobs. 

"Yes, thank God," said Juliet dully. Douglas, who had been eighteen in September, had gone right into town and to the enlistment office. Juliet had felt cold inside, with terror. But Doug was back the next day--not in khaki. His doctor's exam had revealed that he had a double heartbeat--a weak valve in the chamber of his heart. It would not interfere with his health in anyway, but it rendered him unfit for military service. Doug was depressed by it--he was fit, and healthy--so why shouldn't he help his country? And the worst of it was the no one else could _see_ his defect. He wasn't like old Miller Douglas up at the Glen, who was missing a leg. 

"Everyone will think I'm a coward--a slacker," Douglas spit. 

"They won't dare," said Juliet. "Or they'll have me to reckon with."

* * *

Juliet went out for a walk, after she finished her latest letter to Blair, to clear her head. It seemed so ridiculous. Allan Miller--a soldier? Douglas upset because he could not go to fight? And then there was Blair. Where was he tonight? When would he come back to her? When had things gotten this complicated--this _surreal_?

She didn't see Allan until she'd almost tripped over him. 

He was sitting propped up against Cousin Jimmy's flat, red tombstone, his long legs stretched in front of him. Juliet stared down at him. How grown up he looked! Why--not like the Allan _she_ knew at all! He seemed taller and broader in uniform, and his hair had been shorn in a way that emphasized the strong line of his jaw. But his face was still freckled as ever, and his eyes were dreamy and kind. Juliet thought that despite everything he looked young and impossibly sweet. 

"I've been up at New Moon," he said, not getting up. "Thought I'd stop by and show myself off to Aunt Em and Uncle Ted. Although--" he stood now. "Although it was _you_ I wanted to see, Juliet. Let's go for a ramble through Lofty John's bush, like we used to?"

It was a question and Juliet nodded. 

"When--do you--leave?" she asked Allan anxiously. 

"Sunday," said Allan. "Take the train to Charlottetown. Then we sail to Halifax--and after that it'll be a week before I'm 'somewhere in France.' Why you want to know? Trying to get rid of me?"

His tone was light but his face serious. 

"No--Allan--no!" Juliet cried, wildly. She was remembering all of the times throughout the past months, when, in a love-stupor over Blair, she had wished that Allan would simply disappear. How less complicated everything would be! But now she regretted ever thinking it. Why, Allan couldn't go! This was his home! He _belonged_ here. 

"Are you afraid?" she asked him, hiding her face against his shoulder. 

"There's only one thing I'm afraid of," he said. "I'm afraid that when I come back you won't be my girl anymore--I'm afraid that you don't love me _now_. But Juliet, the only thing that would make me truly happy--the only thing that will keep me from dying a thousand daily deaths over there--is the thought that when I come back, you'll be waiting for me. That you'll be my wife." Allan fumbled in his pocket for a moment and drew out a small, velvet-covered box. He handed it unceremoniously to Juliet, who, as one in a dream

opened it, to reveal a tiny diamond ring that winked and glittered in the moonlight. "It isn't much," Allan said gruffly. "But I'll buy you heaps of diamonds one day. I'll build you castles of them! Juliet, say yes."

How easy it would be for her to say yes. How cruel it would be if she didn't! The word was on Juliet's tongue, almost like a physical object. It was the least she could do, to let him think that she would marry him! If he didn't--come back--oh, she could scarcely bear to think it!--at least she would have made him happy. And if he did--she could always explain about Blair then--or, she could learn to be happy with Allan. She loved Blair, and he loved her, but he hadn't asked her--yet--to be his wife. Perhaps he never _would_ ask her. 

Juliet shivered--and it became clear to her. She loved Blair. And Blair loved her. "No, Allan," she said, feeling sick. Suddenly, hot tears poured out of her eyes. She made no move to wipe them away--just held out the terrible velvet box for him to take. 

Allan nodded. His eyes glimmered and he passed his hand over them and turned his head away. "Allan!" Juliet cried, and sprang forward to embrace him. "Don't hate me, please, don't _hate_ me! I do love you. _Love_ isn't the word. Something bigger than love. I just--can't--love you--_that way_."

"I couldn't hate you, you fool!" he said. "There is--is there--someone else?"

Juliet's lips parted and the word _yes_ slithered out. She immediately regretted it. It had been such a lovely, dear secret between her and Blair and now it wasn't anymore. But she owed it to Allan to explain. "I love Blair King. I love him. He loves me."

"How could he not?" Allan said. He managed a wry smile. 

"It's a secret, Allan," Juliet whispered. "No one knows."

Allan nodded. "I want you to know," he said, opening the little velvet box again. "That no matter what happens--if it _doesn't_ happen between you and--Blair--I'll still--_love _you. I always will. Juliet, I want you to wear this ring--just as a sign of friendship. Just--in case--you change your mind. You can wear it on your right hand--and if you change your mind switch it over."

"I'll take it, Allan," Juliet said. "But _only_ as a sign of friendship. And it will stay on my right hand, where all good signs of _friendship_ belong."

Allan laughed--well, it was more a bark than a laugh--but his eyes were kind. He took Juliet's slim hand and slid the ring on her finger--then he leaned down and kissed her. It was a chaste kiss--a kiss of parting. Each one's tears fell on the other's cheeks. They broke apart, and Allan walked slowly away. 

"Goodbye," he said over his shoulder. "I love you."

Juliet stood alone in the bush with her diamond, that twinkled and flashed in the dark. 


	7. 1943

Things seemed--flat--after Allan had gone. 

Mother and Father worried over Juliet. Was this the carefree, happy girl of a few years ago? Carefree didn't seem to be the word to describe her now--_care-laden_ was more apt. Juliet's face, set off by her masses of dark hair, looked even thinner and paler than ever, and there were shadowy circles under her eyes. 

She threw herself into her work. She drifted through her last year at the high school as one in a dream. She took part in sewing circles and wrote notes to the soldiers overseas who had no one to write to them. Somehow, the writing had become easier--Juliet just thought of Blair. These lonesome soldiers were not Blair, but they were _somebody's_ child, or brother, or sweetheart. 

The fighting intensified every day. At home, in the evenings, the family clustered around the radio. Douglas, who had taken to reading philosophy, said that perhaps Nietzche was right and God _was_ dead. The radio had taken His place. 

The only times of near-perfect happiness that Juliet had were when a thin, airmail envelope from Blair or Allan showed up in the day's post. She fell upon those letters--first murmuring a prayer of thanks that the boys were alive to write another day--and then tearing into them. She had another lovely half-hour of penning replies--but then the heaviness of the world seemed to close back in on her again. 

* * *

__

31 March 1943

__

Dearest Blair, 

The Air Nationals have been practicing out of Charlottetown today--every few minutes there is a terrific roar as another 'plane flies overhead. I always look up when I hear an airplane. I know it can't possibly be you--your letters are postmarked England--but I can't shake a childish daydream that perhaps you've pulled a Lindbergh and flown across the sea to collect me in your silvery bird. I imagine you scooping me up--we would fly out to the edge of the horizon--and into the night sky, right into the great, pearly moon, where we'd live forever and be happy. 

How peaceful the earth would look from that great distance! But I wouldn't spend a great deal of time noticing--I'd have more important things to do

I love you. 

Juliet. 

* * *

Germany launched a heavy bombing campaign against England in the summer. There were a few tense days as the Islanders waiting to hear news of loved one. Juliet was wild until she received a letter from Blair. He was all right--thank God, he was all right. 

__

There was one terrible moment in the middle of it, he wrote, _when I was hit and my engine started to smoke and fail. This was over the Belgian countryside and down below there were rows and rows of these little cottages. Everyone inside fast asleep. My first thought was of regret that my great hulking plane would smash down and spoil the pristineness of that picture--and then I thought about the people sleeping and my heart pounded to think that some of them would be hurt--killed--when my plane smashed down. Then I thought of myself: all of the things I would never see, Charlotte, and Rae, and Father and Mother--and you. The heartbreak of that thought would surely have killed me if the crash didn't. But then, by some miracle, the engine kicked back in and everything was fine. I flew off and made it back to the base safely but I was shaken--damn shaken. _

Aunt Ilse and Uncle Perry had a telegram. Allan had been injured slightly in the leg. It was just a surface wound--he'd been hit by shrapnel when a nearby bomb exploded. He was resting for a few days and would be back in the trenches again before the end of the week. 

Oh, how Juliet's heart had plummeted when she heard of the telegram. Telegrams meant only one thing. Mr. and Mrs. Kenneth Ford in the Glen had gotten a telegram--and their lives would never be the same again. _That's_ what a telegram meant. Juliet had wept for many hours in relief when she heard that Allan wasn't killed after all, and in terror, because he had come so close. 

"I don't see why you're crying so," Bea said peevishly, her own tear-pink eyes narrowed into slits. "_You_ nearly killed him when you refused him months ago."

It was hopeless trying to explain things to Bea. Juliet cried harder. 

"But I guess I deserved that," she sobbed, when Bea had gone. 

* * *

__

4 June 1943

__

Dear Allan, 

Again and again, how glad I am that you are well--that you weren't hurt badly--that my dear friend is still among the living! We've all had a terrible time waiting for news--wanting news--and then dreading for it to come. 

Oh, Allan, I've terrible news--young Owen Ford is killed. He died in a siege near Brussels on 29 May. I feel terrible writing you this news, but I thought you would want to know--I remember how you loved playing at Ingleside when you were small. His sisters Trudy and Hannah are taking it very hard, and Mrs. Ken Ford is mad with grief. She lost her own brother in the Great War--and now to lose a son! It is too saddening to think of it.

Say a prayer for his soul, Allan dear, but mostly pray for the ones left behind, because they are sick with loss. 

I am sending you a miniature that Father did of me in April--it was on display at a gallery in Charlottetown for a month, and it won a prize in the Exhibition. I think I look the prettiest in it that I have ever looked, and no, that's not vanity, because I don't think I am pretty, normally. It's very like that famous one Father did of Mother in the nineteen-teens. It's called The Smiling Girl II. _I hope you'll like it, and keep it near to you, and remember_

Your dear friend, 

Juliet. 

P.S. Yes, Allan, I am_ still wearing your ring--but it is still on my _right_ hand, where it will stay. Oh, my friend, I'm sorry_

* * *

The Junior Reds were falling apart. Trudy Ford was sick in bed with grief over her brother's death, and Joyce Meredith was too distracted to boss anyone. Her own brother, Blythe, had been overseas since March. It was up to Juliet and Bella to keep everything running smoothly. 

"When our women fail in courage, shall our men be fearless still?" quoth Juliet reproachfully at the stunned, lackadaisical group of girls. 

"That's _easy_ for you to say, Juliet Kent," Rhonda Pearl snapped. "_Your _brother hasn't gone anywhere--won't go. That's cowardice if I've ever seen it, and I'm ashamed of you! You're one to talk."

Juliet looked at her dumbly, shaking with rage. Rhonda Pearl was an only child. _She_ had no brothers to go. 

* * * 

__

11 August 1943

__

oh, Blair, I wanted to smash her face in--I felt my hands twitching to do it. But instead Bea took my arm and Bella the other and they whisked me out of the hall in a blink of an eye. Stupid old Rhonda Pearl has no idea of how things really are--how Doug cries himself to sleep some nights because he feels so impotent--and ashamed. The worst thing about it is that she wouldn't care even if she did_ go! I long to go to Douglas, and comfort him, but when I do, he freezes up and tells me in this unfamiliar, hard voice to go away. It makes me feel sick inside--Doug and I used to be able to read each other's thoughts. I still can read his--and they are ugly, furious thoughts. But--I don't think he can read mine. I don't think he wants to anymore. He hasn't even guessed about you--though he brings me your letters from the P.O. every week, and I'm sure everyone can tell I love you just from the way I look. I'm so in love that I expect it to be written on my forehead, and when I look in the mirror and see that it's not I feel surprised. _

Just because my brothers' at home doesn't mean that I have no one I care about gone to war. Allan seems not to count anymore because I refused him--it's as if everyone expected me to stop caring for him totally. And there's you! Imagine the looks on their faces if I had been able to tell those girls that my sweetheart is holding steady the Western front? 

I am your sweetheart, amn't I, dearest?

Love, Juliet. 

* * *

The summer began to segue into autumn. On the first day of fall, Douglas handed Juliet a letter that had come in that morning's mail--a letter written in a familiar, loving hand--a letter that made her jump up--then sit suddenly down--then laugh and cry simultaneously. A letter addressed to

__

Mrs. Juliet King?

* * *

21 September 1943

__

Blair!

Yes! That's the answer: yes!

Oh, my darling, of course I'll marry you! It is my most perfect, sweetest dream and to know it's yours, too, sends me over the moon. And I don't even need a flying machine to get there, just the wings that your love gives me. 

It's the first of autumn, dearest of all Blairs, and I'm thinking of you--and that night on the shore when I met you and realized that I'd loved you all my life. Do--you--remember, too? I keep remembering your kisses, and they make me go all shivery with delight. 

How _I love you, darling. _

Mrs. Juliet King!


	8. Betrayal

"Juliet!" Bea came bursting into Juliet's room one afternoon when school had let out for the day. "Oh, I'm so glad I found you! You never stay around in the yard to chat like you used to. Why--why--why?"

Each "why" was punctuated by a stamp as Bea pounded her penny-loafer against the floor. 

Juliet opened and closed her mouth in surprise. She went right home after school to check the mail. There was a letter from Blair every day now. Now a long letter--sometimes it was just a scrap with the words "I LOVE YOU" scrawled across it--like the one she had gotten today. Juliet had been reading it before Bea burst in, and dreaming of sun-lit castles in the sky. But now, with Bea not five feet away Juliet quickly shoved the envelope behind her mattress, where she'd taken to keeping all of her letters. The sheer volume of them had soon overflowed the cubbyhole in the mantle. 

"Juliet!" Mother called from the stairs. 

"Sit," Juliet told Bea. "We'll talk in a minute." 

"Why don't you see if Bea wants to stay for supper, after the Junior Reds meeting?" Mother asked. "You haven't been seeing much of each other lately--you've been busy withother things?" Mother arched an eyebrow and Juliet realized that she knew. 

"I'd hate to see your friendship grow cold because you are both over-extended," said Mother with a warm smile. 

What a dear Mother! Juliet gave her a fierce hug and flew back upstairs to her room. 

Bea was sitting at the desk chair, looking out of the window. Juliet plopped back down on her bed. Goodness--there was a corner of one of Blair's letters sticking up behind the headboard! She really must be more careful! Suppose Bea had seen it? Juliet pushed the paper down so that it did not show and glanced at Bea guiltily. She really must tell her--soon. Now that her dream was to become a reality. 

"Juliet," said Bea quietly. "Oh, won't you please do me a favor!"

"Depends what it is," Juliet laughed. But there were tears in Bea's eyes when she turned around. "Bea? What is it?"

"Oh," Bea laughed. "It's just that John Jacob Snyder has been bugging me for weeks. He fancies he's in love with me--but I don't have a whit of feeling for him. Juliet--will you help me write a letter telling him to bug off? I've no idea what to say to him."

"Me!" Juliet said. "Bea, I want to help, but how would I know what to tell him?"

"Your mother's a writer!"

"But I'm not."

"It's in your blood, Juliet," Bea said. "Besides, you've a lot of experience with romance."

Juliet stared at her, stricken.

"With Allan," Bea clarified. "Before you broke his heart." She smiled. 

"Oh, of course," said Juliet. She reached over and pulled her Jimmy-book towards her, found a pen, and sat poised. "So. Tell me what you want to say."

"Write, 'I want you to know that the circumstances have changed, and I don't love you anymore,'" Bea began. 

"Anymore?" Juliet said. 

"I might have thought I did, once," Bea explained. 

"Should I write, 'Dear John Jacob?'"

"No," said Bea. "Leave it off. This is just a draft. Don't sign it, either--I'll copy it over when I get home."

"What else, then?" asked Juliet. 

By the time the girls left for the Junior Reds meeting, the letter had been completed. Bea folded it up and placed it in her bag. 

"Thank you, Juliet," she said. "It's perfect. I definitely think John Jacob will get the hint." 

The letter went something like this: 

__

I want you to know that the circumstances have changed, and I don't love you anymore. I don't think I ever did--I was carried away by the moonlight. In fact, I'm in love with someone else! So if you please, I want to call off anything that might have been understood between us. I've given this issue a lot of thought, and I hope that you will understand that this is no reflection on you, just on my fickle nature. But as of this moment, we are nothing to each other. 

"I don't know, Bea," Juliet said uneasily. "Are you sure you want to send something like that? It's awfullyharsh."

"I'm sure!" said Bea blithely, and skipped down the steps. "Thank you, Juliet, a thousand times over. You'll never know how much this means to me."

"Do you want to come over for dinner?" Juliet called, as Bea started off cross-lots. 

"Can't!" Bea yelled back. "I've got something really _important_ to do!"

* * * 

Juliet could not believe what she was seeing. She smoothed the paper out in front of her and tried again to read what was written. But couldn't. Her eyes were blurred from tears. She blinked a few times to clear them, and then breathed deeply for a moment. Then she looked down and read the black, definite words that were scrawled on the paper. 

__

I think it is a wise decision to call off our engagement. Given your change of heart, that is. I can't imagine what would have caused it. But then I keep telling myself that for all we've pretended, we don't really know each other at all. I suppose you're not the girl I thought you were--not the girl I wanted you to be. She would never have acted so fickle. 

I'm being transferred to a carrier in the South Pacific. You won't be able to write to me at this address anymore. I'd send you the new one, but I don't suppose you have anything else to say to me--and I nothing to say to you. You are entirely right. As of this moment, we are nothing to each other. 

Blair Stanley King. 

"Oh, God," Juliet whispered. " Oh God--God! What could have happened? What is he talking about? God! I don't understand it. Blair!"

She wept--for a long time. She didn't know how long, but when she lifted her head again the sun had set, and the kitchen was dark. There was Mother, coming through the door--her arms laden with groceries from town. 

"Juliet!" she cried dropping the bags and going to her daughter. "What is it, my darling? Has anything happened? Teddy--Douglas--are they all right? Is--it--Allan?"

"It's not any of that," Juliet sobbed, fresh tears running down her damp face. "It's--_this_--oh, Mother!"

Emily Kent picked up the paper that was now crumpled and tearstained, and read the harsh words to herself. When she came to an especially brutal point she flinched, as if someone had stuck her with a pin. All the while Juliet cried, covering her face with the skirt of her dress so that her slip showed. 

"Juliet," said Mother, putting the letter aside and enveloping her in her arms. "My poor babe. My dear little girl! Hush, darling."

Juliet squeezed her eyes shut but still the tears dripped out, down her cheeks and chin, and onto Mother's comforting shoulder. How good it felt to be cuddled by Mother, to be rocked as if she were still a wee baby. 

"Did you know?" Juliet whispered. "About--my--engagement?"

Mother paused. She knew how delicious secrets could be between two people in love. But--

"Yes, dear," she said. "A Mother always knows. Oh, Juliet, darling, what happened? _What_ did you quarrel about?"

"We didn't _have_ a quarrel," Juliet moaned. "I don't have any idea what he's talking about!" She pulled the small parcel of letters from her pocket and thumbed through them. "I've been over them all, Mother! He sent me this one last week--and this little note saying 'I love you' is the last thing I got from him. How could his feelings have changed in that time? I got it on Monday--the same day that Bea was over"

Something cold touched Juliet's spine. She took up the letter and read it again. Didn't parts of it seem--familiar? Blair wrote that she was _fickle_. Juliet was a lot of things, but she was not fickle! And--'_As of this moment, we are nothing to each other_'? Hadn't she just read that somewhere--written it--?

The tears stopped as suddenly as they'd come. Juliet felt very empty and dead inside. 

* * *

"Jewel!" Aunt Ilse opened the door and leaned forward for a kiss. "Darling, we've missed you."

But Juliet pushed passed her without seeing her. "Beatrice!" she screamed. "_Beatrice_!" She thundered up the stairs to Bea's room. 

Bea was lying on the bed, filing her nails, and listening to a soap opera on the radio. Juliet knocked the radio off the chair. It hit the floor with a hiss and the sound of broken glass. 

"Hey! What's the big idea?" Bea shouted. "That radio cost a lot of money, Juliet. _Juliet_!"

Juliet had taken Bea by the shoulders and was gripping them tightly.

"I just had a letter from my fiance," she spat, her eyes blazing. "Beatrice, he said the most amazing things to me. And now he's thrown me over, and I can't imagine why."

"Well, I'm sure I don't know," said Bea with a smirk. "Maybe he got tired of you. I'm sure he's meeting a lot of nice girls overseas. And Blair is a very handsome--"

"How did you know?" Juliet asked, her voice dangerously low. "How did you know about us?"

"I found your _letters_," Bea said wrathfully. She broke away from Juliet's grasp and sat back down on the bed, looking very nonchalant. 

"And you were angry, so you sent that awful letter you made me write to Blair," Juliet finished for her. 

"Yes," said Bea defiantly. "What you did wasn't fair, Juliet. You shouldn't have lied to me! Oh, how angry I was--you knew what I felt for him! And you took him for your own--and _didn't say a thing_. So I sent that letter. It was already in your writing--I just signed it. I thought he'd break it off with you. So I forgive you now, because we're even."

Juliet walked deliberately to Bea and slapped her just as deliberately--twice, across the face. A hot red spot flared up on each cheek. 

"One for me--and one for Blair!" Juliet said, as Bea held a hand to her burning face. "We were so happy--and you ruined it! I loved him, Bea! I _love _him! What you did was unforgivable, and so--I will _never_ forgive you!"

She ran down the stairs and past Aunt Ilse and Uncle Perry, who had been listening in the corridor. Aunt Ilse tried to grab Juliet's arm, but Juliet shook her off and kept going. She ran out into the night. She would have to get used to it now, the dark. She felt there were very dark days ahead. 


	9. Dark Days

Winter came in earnest and the days grew shorter than ever. It was dark when Juliet woke up in the mornings and dark by dinnertime in the afternoon. Yet everything seemed dark, and sinister to her _all_ the time. 

"I can't bear it," she whispered to herself. 

But then the horrifying thought hit her: she _could_. And she probably would have to bear it, for the rest of her life. Her whole life without Blair. It was--unthinkable.

She wrote to him several times. She got his new address from Rachel King--who gave it to her with a grieved air, even after Juliet explained. _She thought Juliet was lying_. To Juliet, this was like a slap in the face. Well, why not? she thought wearily. The whole story about Bea and the letter--it sounded so complicated, so shrill, when she told it. It hurt Juliet to think that pretty, laughing Rachel King thought she was capable of such fickleness. But it was a small hurt--easily brushed off compared to the big hurt that occupied Juliet's whole heart. 

* * * 

__

13 November 1944

Dear Blair, 

It's Friday the Thirteenth, and I've already broken two mirrors--that's fourteen years of bad luck, if you're counting. But the worst luck of all will be if you don't write back to me. If you still hate_ me. _

I asked Rachel to write and explain what happened--did she? I didn't want to, dearest, because I thought it would sound so pithy and defensive. All I know, Blair, and all you really need to know is that I love you--and I never stopped loving you, _not for one second. I didn't write that letter. I never would have dreamt of writing it. _

Next week is Thanksgiving. Please, Blair, write me and tell me you forgive me, so I'll have something to be thankful for.

Love, Juliet. 

* * *

Juliet found Joyce Meredith in the cloakroom, crying, after a Junior Reds meeting. She was sobbing--great, wet-sounding sobs--and the sound made Juliet's heart twist with pity. She never thought of strong, capable, bossy Joyce Meredith crying. She'd heard that Blythe, Joy's brother, had been injured overseas, but still--it was impossible to imagine such a great display of emotion coming from the usually-composed girl. Juliet sidled quietly to Joy's side and, on an impulse, put her arms around her. 

"Oh!" said Joy, clinging fiercely to Juliet. "Oh, thank you--I'm glad it's you. I needed that. Thanks!"

"What's wrong?" Juliet said. She was comforted by the thought that someone else's grief could be as great as her own, but sorry for whatever caused the girl such anguish. "Is it--Blythe?"

Joy dabbed her eyes with the wadded up tissue in her hand. "No," she said shakily. "He's better. He's coming home. Mother fainted when she heard, she was so shocked and glad. And Cecilia--have you seen her? She goes around with a strange, triumphant light in her eyes. She's happy--so happy."

Juliet had noticed. Cecilia and Blythe would be married before the end of the New Year, she reckoned. 

"It's Jake Penhallow," said Joy, crying again in earnest. "He's my sweetheart--oh, Juliet, he stepped on a mine and he's lost his leg. His right leg. I don't care--I love him, legs or no legs--but it's hard--so _hard_! He's in pain, far away, and I can't go to him--can't comfort him in any way."

Juliet felt tears spring to her own eyes. "That's not true. He loves you. And you love him! That must be a great comfort to him." 

Joy nodded, and dried her tears. "Bella Priest told me what Bea Miller did to you," she said. "We all think it's reprehensible. We want to vote her out of the Reds."

Juliet gave a short laugh. "Don't. We need all the help we could get. And it wouldn't solve anything--would it make Blair come back to me? And to her credit, Bea didn't know how much he and I--really--loved each other. I never told her--I hid things from her for so long." Juliet gave a muffled cry. "Joy Meredith, you've got another hanky, I know you do. Give it over."

The two girls finished having a cry, and then put their hankies away and looked at one another. "I bet it all works out," Joy said. "With you and Blair."

Juliet gave the ghost of a smile. "Thanks. And when Jake comes home it will be just like it was before--better, because you'll know how much you mean to one another."

Joy nodded. "You're right. You know," she said shyly. "I always thought you were a stuck-up and sarcastic. In short, a snob. But I guess I was wrong."

"Well," Juliet retorted. "I always thought the same about you. Except _you're _far bossier than I'll ever be."

The girls laughed. "What's your opinion of me, now?" asked Joy. 

"I think you could be a friend," said Juliet simply. 

"I think you could, too," said Joy, and the two embraced. 

Juliet heaved a sigh on her way home. The terrible, heavy feeling was still there. No Blair--and no Bea. It was surprising how much Juliet missed Bea, despite everything. She'd been missing her for some time. But there was Allan. And Joy--a new friend. Out of the ashes of despair--a new friend. That lightened the heaviness somewhat. 

* * *

__

7 December 1943

Dear Allan,

It's so strange to think that only two years ago today Pearl Harbor was bombed--at times it seems like only weeks have passed, other times, centuries! I remember that night--do you? I was upstairs with Bea, and we were talking about how the war would surely be over before you were old enough to enlist. And now--you've enlisted. You're so very far away from us all. I do hope you are well. 

And no, I don't happen to be engaged to Blair King, in response to your question. And that happens to be a bit of a sore spot right now, so don't go probing. And yes_, I still wear your ring--but it is still on my _right _hand where it's likely to remain forevermore. Alas. _

We're getting together a Christmas parcel for you. I tried my hand at knitting and I'm sending you a sweater and some socks. But if there is anything you especially want, let me know. (And no, I can't mail myself overseas in it. So don't ask!)

With love, your friend, Juliet. 

* * *

__

7 December 1943

Blair, 

I haven't heard anything from youit's making me nervous! Please write--so I know nothing dreadful has happened to you. Did you get my last letter? Darling, forgive me, so that we can go back to how it was. I love you. Please!

You know I'm part Murray, and the Murrays are famous for their stubbornness. So I'm going to keep writing until you answer me.

Yours (forever, darling, and ever!)

Juliet

* * *

A letter came from Blair on Christmas Eve. 

Juliet sat for a long while with it on her lap, staring out her window at the snow, which had been falling since morning. The first snowfall of the year--this had been a remarkably warm winter. The first snowfall of the year was always magical. 

She said a little prayer--closed her eyes and thought about that night on the shore--and then opened it. 

__

Juliet, she read. 

__

Please don't write to me again. 

Blair.

That was all, then? Juliet folded the letter carefully and put it with the others. Then she went and stared back out at the snow. A part of her brain was clamoring, with plans and ideas for getting him back, but she quelled it. It was over. For good. That was all. 


	10. Juliet and the Children

"You're sure you'll be all right, in that lonely old house by yourself?" Mother asked Juliet one windy, snow-blown evening, the last night of the old year. 

"Yes--and Mother, I won't be by myself. There will be four little imps of boys and girls keeping watch with me as the old year goes out," Juliet smiled. Oh, yes, she smiled--but not with her eyes. Emily knew those kinds of smiles--they were dangerous. 

"It's awfully good of you to go up to Cloud of Spruce to baby-sit," said Aunt Ilse, who was sitting at the table, stirring milk into her cup of coffee. How pretty Aunt Ilse looked! No, not pretty--she was so gorgeous and exotic that pretty was an insult to her. She and Mother were dressed to go out, to the New Years' dance in White Sands. Aunt Ilse had arrayed herself in a pink feathered concoction with dangly feather earrings in her ears. She looked like a tropical bird that had swooped down and alighted in this bleak, stark, wintry place by mistake. But somehow, Juliet thought that she would rather look like Mother than Aunt Ilse. 

Mother was wearing a dress of amethyst silk that showed off the white skin at her throat and her strong arms and shapely legs. Her Christmas present from Father--a pair of diamond earrings--glittered alluringly on her bewitching, pointed little ears. An amethyst pendant was nestled in the pearly hollow of her throat. She looked so young and un-motherly that Juliet jumped up and gave her an improptu kiss, as if to reclaim her territory. 

"Marigold and Sidney Guest have some of the wildest little hellians this side of Halifax," said Uncle Perry, coming into the kitchen, buttoning his cuffs. "They've had the hardest time keeping baby-sitters. I don't envy you your job tonight, Juliet."

Juliet laughed--this time for real. Uncle Perry, who could stand up to the toughest man in Parliament without flinching couldn't be scared of a few harmless children. 

"I am sorry you aren't coming to the dance," Aunt Ilse said woefully, as Juliet pulled her long hair into a quick braid and grabbed her scarf from the rack by the door. 

"I'm _not_ sorry," said Juliet to herself as she tramped down the road that led into Harmony. The last dance she had been at was the Valentine's dance, nearly two years ago now--with Blair. And Allan. Oh, where was Blair tonight? Was he safe? No--Juliet would not think of him. Where was Allan, then? She had had a letter from him yesterday, postmarked last week--but where was he tonight?

"Thank heavens you're here," said Mrs. Guest, opening the door only seconds after Juliet knocked with the heavy brass knocker. "Budge!" she called down the hallway. "Juliet is here, darling, hurry!"

"Sorry for the rush job," said Mr. Guest, his eyes smiling kindly behind his glasses. "Lorraine and Lesley are playing in the parlor, and Leander is sulking over something in his room. The baby is asleep--she makes the most unearthly racket if she sees us leave, so we'd better get out fast, before she wakes up."

They left in a flurry of color and a whirl of donning scarves and coats. 

Juliet made her way into the parlor, where a little boy and girl were coloring with crayons. Lorrie and Les Guest greeted her warmly, and went back to their papers. 

"This looks like an advertisement for family-living," Juliet laughed, watching the two golden-haired creatures work so diligently at their drawings. 

"Just wait until Leander gets over his fit," said Lorrie ominously, coloring in a large, pink flower. 

The baby began to cry, and Juliet went up to get her out of her crib. She was such a sweet, delicate little thing. Such tiny hands. "I love those hands," Juliet cooed, kissing one, and the baby gurgled in delight. Hadn't Juliet had several of these fat, lovable creatures in her dream house? Babies with pointed ears, and eyes that crinkled when they smiled

She was knocked out of her reverie by a terrific crash downstairs. 

"Oh!" said Juliet, flying into the pantry, from whence the crash had emanated. A small boy with blond ringlets and round spectacles was poised on the top shelf of the pie-safe. At his feet were the remains of a Wedgwood platter and a splattered cherry pie. 

"He's spoiled the pie Mother was saving for tomorrow's supper," said Lorraine, in a death's-head voice. 

"You must be Lee," said Juliet darkly. "Come down from that shelf right now. What were you doing up there?"

"Those were the last of the cherries," said Les sadly. "There won't be more till spring." 

"I was awful hungry," said the culprit, speaking for the first time. "Mother sent me off without supper. She said you would feed me later, when I decided to be a good boy. Well, I haven't decided to be good! But my stomach was growling so, and I remembered seeing a pie up here...say! You don't think there's another one?" His eyes behind his spectacles looked hopeful, and he reached precariously up. 

"Get down--this--instant!" Juliet bellowed. "Or I shall have to punish you."

"Well you have to let me eat," Leander reasoned. "Mother said you would feed us, and put us to bed. She didn't say anything about punishing us. And anyway, I won't let you." He seemed very decided. 

"Part of the pie landed right side up on this plate," Les pointed out. "We might as well eat it."

Juliet looked at the stubborn faces and grimly went to get three forks. 

* * * 

"I ain't going to go to bed tonight," said Lee, stretching his hands complacently over his belly. "That was swell pie, wasn't it? I'm glad we got a little of it, at least."

"Your Mother won't think it's so swell, when she sees what you've done," said Juliet anxiously. 

"She'll be mad at _you_," Lee corrected her. "After all, you are the one in charge. And anyway, I ain't going to bed, so I'll stay up all night and 'splain it to her when she comes home. If you try to make me go to bed, I'll kick and scream."

"He bites," Lorraine warned. 

Juliet, who had just spent a terrible half-hour putting the baby to bed did not want to relive that experience soon with a small boy--who _bit_. And Lee looked like he meant it. It was already past their bed-times but she decided to bend the rules a little. 

"Why don't go into the parlor and play?" she said brightly.

* * *

In the past hour, Juliet had decided that there would, in fact, be no babies in her re-constructed dream castle in the sky. Babies grew up--to be horrid little _boys_. 

Lee had already grown tired of making paper-dolls, though Les and Lorrie looked pleased with their handiwork and made more. But Lee--Lee had already beheaded three of Lorraine's dolls and cut the whiskers off of the family cat! 

"Give over those shears immediately," Juliet said, comforting the yowling beast. "You are too young--you can't be trusted with them."

"If you say that again, I'll cut _your_ whiskers off," Lee said with a grin. 

"She hasn't got whiskers," Les remarked matter-of-factly. 

"Her braid then!" Lee said triumphantly. 

"You are a very naughty boy," said Juliet, near her wits end. "I was nice enough to come and sit with you tonight, and you threaten me with the shears. Now hand them over."

"You weren't nice to come and sit with us, you just had nothing better to do," Lee argued. 

"That's not true," Juliet said, wounded. "I could have gone to the dance."

"Why didn't you?" asked Les.

"What would your dress look like?" asked Lorraine. 

"She didn't go because no one wanted to take her," said Lee. "She's ugly--ugly--with a moon-face--and pointed ears!"

It was a silly remark made by a child--but it smarted. Juliet gasped. "You are a naughty, mean boy," she said tearfully. 

"Oho! That's the second time you've called me naughty--and I'm not-- but I'll show you!" And Lee swooped toward her with the shears. 

No one knew exactly what happened next, but they were able to guess from the evidence that was left behind. Lorraine gasped. Lesley covered his eyes. And Leander dropped the shears and backed away. 

Juliet put her hands to her head--which felt strange. She looked down and saw her braid--all of it--on the floor by her feet, tangled up in the shears. 

"Oh!" Juliet said, this time in a low, dark voice. A strained silence fell over the room as the little boys and girl looked up at her with wide eyes. 

"He's done it now," Lorraine commented. 

"Your _hair_ is on the _floor_," Les whispered. 

Juliet glared at them--she dared not look at Leander unless she would tempted to go and throttle him. She snatched up her braid, and fled to the bathroom, locking herself in. 

"You're supposed to watch us," Lorraine called. 

"I don't care if you burn the house down!" Juliet shrieked, tears running down her cheeks. These horrible--horrible--children! 

She cried in the bathroom until her eyes felt rough and red. Her hair--her one glory--gone! She had only had her hair cut once in her who life, when she was a baby. And in one second it had all been snipped away! What an ugly creature she must be now!

"It's a good thing Blair can't see me in this state," she wept. "And Allan--not even Allan will like me anymore like _this_."

Surprisingly, the tots did not burn the house down in her absence. There were no more crashes--not even a peep from those little demons. Maybe they'd been poisoned by the pie. Juliet hoped so. If she'd known how they would act she would have put it in herself. 

The clock struck ten o'clock and Juliet reluctantly stood and started to go out. She had to put the children to bed--even if they were terrible, they deserved to sleep. As she was going she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror--and stopped--and stood, transfixed. 

Why--why--she looked beautiful! Leander had cut her hair off above the shoulders--and it curled jauntily around her face, defining her jaw and making her eyes look bigger and more alluring. She looked elfin--mocking--impish. 

"I _like_ it," Juliet said increduously. "Why didn't I cut it all off years ago?"

The children, had not been poisoned, just scared into being good by Juliet's stony silence. They'd tucked themselves into bed without a peep. Lorraine and Lesley were already asleep, Les snoring slightly. The baby was as sweet as ever in her crib. 

Juliet crept into Leander's room, hardening her heart a little. She liked her new 'do--but he'd had no right to cut off all of her hair. Even if it did look better this way. What was that snuffling sound--why, was Leander _crying_?

He was. Great fat tears rolled swiftly down Lee's cheeks. "What on earth have you done now?" Juliet asked in horror. She pulled back the covers--and there was Lee, looking like a shorn sheep, his lovely golden curls scattered like confetti on the bedsheets, his eyes red from sobbing. The offending shears were still in his hand. Juliet wrenched them away. 

"What have you done?" she cried. 

"Nothing--only I'm sorry," Leander said. "About your hair, I mean. I'm not normally sorry--but I am now. And I don't like the feeling. So I thought I'd feel better if I cut my own hair off, to show I was sorry."

"It isn't nice to feel guilty," Juliet said. "And cutting your hair off was a naughty thing to do! But I know what will make you feel better. I forgive you, little Lee. There now, do you still feel like crying?"

"No," said Leander. "And--I'm sorry about the pie, and the paper-dolls, and saying you had a moon-face. You don't--I made that up. And I like your ears. They look like elf ears--fairy ears. Say you forgive me again and make the rest of this feeling go away!"

"I forgive you, again, for all that," Juliet laughed, and the little creature flung himself at her. 

"I _like_ you," Lee said. "In fact, I think I'll marry you, when I'm grown up. You'll be awfully old then--but I won't mind. And my hair will have grown back."

Why--he was--a dear! He wasn't a bad little boy. Juliet laughed. Well, maybe he was a little bad, but Lee had a tang that the others were lacking. 

"I know something else that will make us both feel better," Juliet whispered. "Let's sneak downstairs and have some cookies before bed!"

Mr. and Mrs. Guest came home shortly after midnight and were electrified to see Lee and Juliet asleep on the sofa in the parlor, the latter clutching her braid in her hand, the former with a handful of shorn golden curls. 

"I like Miss Kent," Lee murmured in his sleep. "Can she be our babysitter all the time, Mummy?"

"I'd like that," said Juliet. "And oh--Mrs. Guest--I'm sorry about the pieand Lee's hairhe cut it off himself."

"Oh, no matter," said Mrs. Guest. "I'm sick to death of cherry pies, we've been eating them all winter. Mrs. Vincent Lesley brought this one over yesterday--she never puts enough sugar in hers. I was going to give it to the girl who comes in to clean. And Lee! You naughty thing! I suppose he was really very bad?"

Juliet looked down at the little pleading face next to her. 

"He was--a dear," she said.

"What a funny story this has been," Juliet thought, as she and Mr. Guest sped along in his motorcar, back toward New Moon. She must write Allan about it first thing tomorrow. She spent the rest of the ride re-establishing the babies in her dream castle--and adding in a little bespectacled blond boy, for good measure. 


	11. Missing in Action

Juliet awoke in the cold blue light of an early snowy morning to find Douglas kneeling by her bed. She had been having a dream--it was disappearing now--she sat bolt upright and looked at her brother with quizzical eyes. 

"It's Allan Miller," Douglas said grimly. 

* * *

__

Wounded--and missing in action. That one phrase pounded in Juliet's ears as she raced through Lofty John's bush. She did not even stop to get a drink from the little brook as she passed, even though her throat burned so. She ran up the path to Burnley Barrens, threw open the door, and burst inside. 

"Juliet!" Aunt Ilse and Uncle Perry looked up in surprise to see her there--in her nightgown and slippers! In this cold weather, she had run this whole way wearing only that? Aunt Ilse's eyes were pink and watery, Uncle Perry's hair was tousled and he was unshaven. She had never seen dapper Uncle Perry like that! Oh, Juliet thought wildly. Then it was certainly true! Allan, oh, Allan!

"Allan--?" she said, through her great gasps for air. 

And Uncle Perry told her what had happened--as they knew it. 

Sergeant Major Allan Burnley Miller had been leading a convoy through the Italian countryside to Anzio. (Impossible! Juliet thought. Allan can't be in _Italy_, we agreed we would go there _together_!) The Germans began shelling them as they approached--one shell came especially close. And another--hit one of the tanks. When the dust cleared, several of the men were dead--and several were missing. Allan Miller was one of them--one of the ones who were missing. 

"But of course it means he's dead," sobbed Beatrice, from the foot of the stairs, where she'd sat to hear this dreadful tale again. "He's not missing, he's been blown to smithereens! Allan!" 

"Beatrice!" said Uncle Perry sharply. "If you are going to talk like that you _must_ go upstairs. You're upsetting Juliet--and your mother--and me. Allan is _not dead_."

His voice shook, and he hesitated. Beatrice heard it and burst into fresh tears, running quickly back up the stairs. The bottoms of her bare feet were grimy. Juliet closed her eyes. Aunt Ilse shook her head dully. 

"He is dead?" she said. "Oh, Perry, our boy--our first little boy. Could it be possible that he is dead? Why, the parents are supposed to outlive their children, not the other way 'round. Perry, we must remember that if he is--dead--he'll be with Little Emmy, and she will take care of him!"

She put her arms around his neck, and they cried together. Juliet felt guilty, and very young watching them, as if she were seeing something she was not meant to see. She backed slowly away and out the door, and set off toward home. 

* * * 

She thought news would come right away telling them exactly what had happened. She was sick with fear for the next few days and could not eat. She told Mother and Father that she _would_ not eat until Allan was found--until she knew he was safe. 

Father gently explained that it might be months before Allan was found, or even years. Or he may never be found. Juliet must eat, to keep her strength up, because Allan would not want her to think of her starving herself over him. Mother brought Juliet a tray with tea and toast, but Juliet could not eat it. Her throat felt tight and she alternately shook with chills and burned feverishly. The simple act of lifting the teacup from the tray was too much for her. Mother felt her forehead and frowned. But she did not call the doctor--yet. It was not until Juliet raised her head and said, with a flushed face,

"I know where Allan is. I've found him! He's at the bottom of the old well, Mother. I can hear him calling to me. Please, go and get him out!"

Then Mother very quickly sent Douglas into town. 

* * * 

There was no outbreak of scarlet fever in or around Shrewsbury in the late winter of 1944. Several families had had the mumps, and about ten people had been dreadfully ill with influenza. They had a fewcases of pneumonia, more over toward Harmony. But there had not been _one_ case of scarlet fever--not until Juliet Kent at New Moon came down with it--and almost died from it.

Mother and the doctor tucked Juliet up in the spare room. She did not feel very sick. Only she kept seeing the strangest things! Juliet could not tell what was real from her imagination. She was constantly aware of Mother's presence, but a steady stream of ghostly personages came to visit her. Once Juliet raised her head and saw sweet Aunt Laura in the rocking chair, knitting. She was humming a sad, lonely song and when Juliet met her eyes she smiled, and raised her eyebrows hopefully. Another time, Cousin Jimmy--Juliet hardly remembered Cousin Jimmy--walked up to her bedside and he had a pumpkin for a head, like the Headless Horseman! He was holding his real head under his arm, and it _grinned_ at her. Juliet screamed when she saw that vision. 

"We'll give her another shot," the doctor murmured to Mother. 

She was awake enough to recognize Aunt Ilse when she came. Only--why--was Aunt Ilse wearing her pink New Years' dress?

"Emily, I feel dreadfully guilty," Aunt Ilse said, smoothing Juliet's covers. "She ran over in her nightgown and slippers the other day--through all that snow and wind. Perry and I meant to drive her back, but she disappeared before we could. Do you think--she could have come down with this--because of _that_?"

"I think you have more important things to worry about, dear," Mother said. 

Was--that--Bea, sitting by her now? Juliet tried to focus her eyes. But she could not make the picture clear. 

"I'm sorry," said Bea. Was Bea crying? Juliet squinted but she couldn't tell. "Juliet, I'm so sorry--about Blair. Forgive me, dearest, I'll write to him and explain--I'll make it all up to you. Please!"

"Who is Blair?" Juliet asked Bea earnestly. "I don't know--anyone--by that name."

"_You_ know," Bea said, frightened. "Blair King! You _know_ who Blair is."

"Mother, I'm hallucinating Bea," Juliet said weakly. 

"You're not, dear," said Mother. "Bea is really here."

But as Mother said this, she seemed to get smaller and smaller, until she was no bigger than one of the china figurines in Juliet's cabinet. 

"Aunt Emily!" said Bea. "What's happening to her?" But Juliet wasn't listening. She saw a familiar figure standing out on the lawn. 

"Allan!" she cried. "Oh, Allan!"


	12. A Ghostly Encounter

Ilse Miller could not sleep. How could anyone sleep at a time like this? She glared at Perry's sleeping form. He'd taken one of the pills the doctor prescribed, and been asleep minutes later. They did nothing for Ilse--nothing at all. They were like candy to her. 

She rose from her bed and lit a cigarette--just one. It was a filthy habit. She'd quit when they found Allan. _If_ they found Allan. She _must_ calm her nerves in some way. Ilse stared out the window at the darkened yard and asked herself again the one burning question that had been on her tongue since this happened: Where was Allan tonight?

Below the moon glimmered on the snow. Ilse looked over at the clock--it was midnight, the witching hour. When she glanced back out the window, she saw a figure, all in white, on the front lawn. It was a girl--with dark, curly hair--she was smiling jubilantly. She motioned for Ilse to throw up the window sash. 

"Allan is safe!" the ghostly girl cried. 

"Perry!" Ilse yelped, and in a flash he joined her at the window. 

"I just saw--_something_--a girl--she told me Allan was safe. And then she ran off through those trees. Can you see her still, Perry? Tell me I didn't dream it!"

Perry Miller said, "I see her--what's Juliet Kent doing out so late?"

They looked at each other--and the telephone rang. 

* * * 

It was a terrible night over at New Moon. Juliet's breathing slowed and grew shallower with every breath. Her fever raged out of control. Emily went around with her lips pressed firmly together, and Teddy's eyes were wild. Douglas paced the hallway outside the sick room's door.

"I've done all I can," the doctor said. "It's up to Juliet now, to pull herself out of it."

Mother flew to her bedside. 

"Darling," she said. "Darling girl! Please get well, my sweet one. Try--I know you can do it. Juliet--Juliet--!"

The slight figure in the bed made no response of having heard. 

At about midnight, they all watched desperately as Juliet drew in a short breath--and then --nothing. Her head rolled to the side--he r eyes closed. Emily pressed her hand to her mouth. Teddy grabbed his daughter's hand, which had gone limp. Douglas closed his eyes and tried to steady himself on the bedpost. The doctor moved in to place his fingers against the young girl's neck, to check for a heartbeat. He was already shaking his head. 

But--then--there was a tiny sound. Juliet sighed. It was a sound like a fluttering of wings--the wind in the fir trees--a sigh of contentment--a sigh of relief. 

The doctor placed his hand on her forehead instead. "Her fever's down," he announced, in an astonished voice. "It's broken--completely--I've never seen anything like this." 

Mother, Father, and Douglas exchanged happy, tearful glances. And downstairs, in the parlor at New Moon, the telephone rang. 

* * *

The next morning Juliet opened her eyes and recognized her Mother. She blinked--closed them again--opened them--and it was still Mother. She hadn't altered any. 

"How do you feel?" Mother asked, smoothing her brow. 

"Fine--I feel fine," Juliet croaked. "My eyes hurt--so--though."

"It's from the fever, dear," Mother said. "You're cooling down now--it will go away soon. Juliet--Aunt Ilse is here--and Uncle Perry--they have some thing to tell you."

Aunt Ilse sat, very tearfully, by Juliet's bed. Uncle Perry stood behind her. 

"Allan is safe," Aunt Ilse said, and then sobbed. "Juliet--oh Juliet--tell me--_how did you know_?"

* * *

"We both saw her," said Uncle Perry stubbornly. "It was Juliet--on our front lawn."

"At twelve o'clock at night?" Father said doubtfully. 

"It _was_ her," Uncle Perry reiterated. 

"What are you all _talking_ about?" Juliet asked from the bed. 

Uncle Perry crossed over to her in a great side and knelt by the bed. 

"Ilse woke up around midnight last night," he said. "Couldn't sleep. She looked down on the lawn--saw a girl standing there--saw _you_. You beckoned her to open the window and you said, 'Allan is safe.' Then, not two minutes later, the telephone rang, and we heard the same words come over the line, from overseas. 'Allan is safe.'" 

"Ilse, you must have dreamed it," said Mother, putting her hand on Aunt Ilse's arm. "Juliet was here--the whole time--I was with her."

"I saw it, too," Uncle Perry insisted. "I saw Juliet running through the trees."

"Emily," said Aunt Ilse suddenly. "Do you remember that business with my mother? With that little boy--?"

Emily shook her head, but Teddy Kent looked over at his daughter thoughtfully. Perhaps he was remembering a day long ago, when he was prevented _somehow_ from sailing on that doomed ship the _Flavian. _

"Come," said Emily. "Let's leave Juliet to rest--she looks exhausted. Darling, call if you need us--are you sure you're all right?"

Juliet nodded, eyes shining with tears. Of course she was all right. She was better than all right! This was the happiest day of her life. Allan--was--safe!

* * * 

"This is the happiest day of my life," Bea said soberly from Juliet's bedside. "To find out that Allan is alive--and you're better! Juliet, I was so frightened. I felt wretched--I still do. I thought you would die--and I came to apologize to you, but you didn't seem to understand what I was saying. I want to say it now, dearest: I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I'll have to say it a thousand times before it even comes close to expressing how I feel!"

"Why did you do it, Bea?" asked Juliet curiously. "Were you in love with Blair?"

"No--I don't think so--no," said Bea. "I was angry with _you_ for hiding it from me. We'd never _had _a secret before. I felt like I must be a fool--you must think I was a fool--and Blair, too. Juliet, believe me when I say that I didn't know you were engaged! I _did_ read your letters--but only up to the one where he wrote that he loved you. I couldn't read any that came after. But darling, I'm going to fix this. I'm going to write to Blair and tell him exactly what happened."

"Don't you dare," said Juliet. "The truth is, Bea--I don't feel anything for Blair King anymore. It's strange . A week ago I would have given anything for him to love me again--and this week I don't mind if he doesn't. It's strange. But--I forgive you, dearest Bea. Give me a kiss, and we're friends again."

The girls kissed each other, and Bea took Juliet's hand. 

"I love you," she said. "You're like a sister to me."

"I love you, too," said Juliet, but Bea was staring down at something else. 

"Juliet," she said. "You're wearing Allan's ring--on your _left_ hand! "

Juliet looked, in surprise. So she was. "I must have switched it in my sleep," she laughed. "That's strange--very strange."

But she made no move to switch it back. 


	13. Allan Writes

Juliet's return to good health was very rapid indeed. The days after her fever broke she was sitting up in bed and eating soup brought to her on a tray by Mother. By the end of the week she was well enough to sit downstairs on the front porch, and look up at the blue, blue sky, and write a letter to Allan. 

__

7 May 1944

__

Dear Allan, 

__

The first thing that I did when I heard you were safe was cry and cry--I cried my eyes out, I was so glad. Thank God--Thank God, thank God! I can't seem to say it enough. The thought of never seeing you again--never talking with you again--filled me with dread. How could I spend the rest of my years on earth without your company, and your friendship--and your love?

Allan, I'm not going to say I love you--you already know I do. But--it's an entirely different love than I expected or once thought. If you asked me again that dear question you asked the night before you left, I think I might give you a very different answer. An answer that you would like far more than the original one I gave you. I've know reason to expect it, I know--I've treated your feelings horribly. But it is my dearest wish that you would_ ask again._

I suppose I'm very weak still from my illness because my hand is shaking and my head suddenly is swimming around. I'll write a longer letter later, and oh, my dearest friend, you must write soon. 

Love, Juliet. 

She put down her pen and stared out past the trees for a moment. Then she sealed and addressed the letter, writing Allan's name on it carefully and with flushed cheeks. _Sergeant Major Allan Miller_, _9th Canadian Infantry Brigade. _That sounded so terribly important. Juliet was sure that Allan loved her, but would Sergeant Major Miller feel the same? 

"Juliet," Mother called. "The postman's here and he's brought you this." She handed over a fat little letter with an airmail stamp. Juliet recognized the cramped handwriting on the envelope and her heart beat faster with excitement--and something else. 

"Thanks!" Juliet said, grabbing for it. "Oh, Mother, will you give him this one I've just written? I want it in the mail as _soon as possible_."

Mother held out her white hand, but Juliet had trouble handing it over. It was such a _sweet_ little letter that she'd just written. She kissed the back of it and then, eyes shining, finally let it go. Mother looked down at the name and address, and raised one eyebrow. 

"I swear, Juliet, your love affairs are getting to be more complicated than mine _ever_ were," she said loftily. 

"You! Love affairs?" laughed Juliet. "I don't believe you. Why, it seems that you and Father _must_ have been married since the dawn of time."

"That's a nice way of saying that we're as old as the hills," said Mother. "But you'd be surprised the things that this old girl has done and seen! I'll go post your letter, you cheeky thing."

And then Juliet was free to read her letter. She took her time, looking at everything--the handwriting was cramped and hurried, with an upward slant, as if Allan had written it in a rush. He'd addressed it to _Miss Juliet Kent, New Moon_. She grinned. Miss! That might seem old-fashioned, but it was a private joke between them--Allan addressed all of his letters that way. When Juliet had been small, one of the great thrills of her life was being called _Miss._ And Allan knew it! She thought backwards--all the way back, as far as she could remember. There was not a single thing about her that Allan did not know. He was a part of her history. 

Juliet opened the envelope as carefully as if she were defusing a bomb, and gently folded all of the creases out, and read:

__

30 April 1944

Juliet, 

I'm glad to hear that you're getting better every day. Scarlet fever! When Mother wrote with the news you had it, the only thing I could remember was Aunt Emily reading Little Women_ to us, and how that was the same thing that Beth died of. I would have been terribly worried if I'd heard the news while you were sick, but by the time Mother wrote me, you were already well again. And I'm so glad. _

I suppose you want to know what happened to me, so I'll tell you, although parts of it are hazy and parts I don't like talking about. But you, you curious thing, won't rest until you have all the details. You may not be a writer, like Auntie Em, but you have an terrible thirst for details that must be quenched. So I'll tell you.

We--the 9th Infantry--were on our way into Anzio. There'd already been fighting there for weeks--almost two weeks, but even still we didn't know what we were walking into. I can't write more than that--the censors will black it out--but I don't remember much anyway, except that it was dark, and a light rain was coming down. And we were passing olive trees--I never really thought that olives grew on trees. More like bushes. I remember thinking that. They were all by the side of the road. Every few moments someone would send a flare up, and they cast the most ghostly shadows in the light. 

I remember a shell hit, and thinking, "Damn!" It was close. The next one was on top of us--it hit the tank in front of me. One minute it was there--the next it was in flames. For the rest of my life, I shall never forget seeing those men around, trying to escape the fire. Then the tank exploded. And I suppose I fainted from the shock of it, because when I woke up later, we were in the same place, and only thing that remained of the tank in front of me was a blackened mark in the ground, and bits of rubble where it stood. 

Juliet, the man next to me was dead. He was unmistakably dead--but he looked happier than I'd ever seen him since I knew him. I thought of course that I must be dying, too. I could taste blood running down my cheeks and over my lips. I had trouble seeing out of my left eye, and everytime I breathed in there was a pain in my side. I was sure_ I was dying, and as I looked around at the bodies all over the road I thought, _This is what it's like to be a statistic. _I had the awful realization that soldiers are nothing but currency in the game of war. Remember how we used to play Monopoly? I--and all of my comrades-- were no more than that colored paper money. _

Up ahead my mates were running around. I could hear them calling--the radio was beeping out a signal in code. I called out feebly to my mates, but they seemed not to hear me. They'd moved on up the road, Juliet, and I had a horrible thought--they hadn't seen me, or hadn't noticed I was still alive. I felt very weary, and closed my eyes. And then a finny thing happened: the greatest feeling of peace sweep over me, and I was at peace with everything, even dying, if I had to die. I didn't mind so much. But Juliet--when I opened my eyes--I was at home again, standing in the yard of New Moon, looking up at your window. You called to me: "Allan! Oh, Allan!" and it was so real_. I think I _was_ there, for a few minutes. _

By that time the other tanks had gone and I was surrounded by dead men. A moment ago I felt as if I would soon be one of them, but now, with the picture of lovely New Moon in my mind, I pulled myself up and started walking. I had no idea of where to go. I walked until I couldn't walk anymore, and collapsed in an orchard of olive trees. My last thought was again how strange and ghostly they were. 

I woke up in a small house. The family who owns it is called Annunzio. They also own the orchard I happened to collapse in. Mama Annunzio took care of me for three days--during which I was too delirious with pain and fever to be moved. I saw the weirdest things, and thought that I had hallucinated the most beautiful girl. She was browned all over, with black, raven curls and a wide smile. When she spoke it sounded like a bird chirruping. When my fever broke, I still saw her, and realized that she was real. Her name is Andalucia, and she is the daughter of the house. 

When I was well enough to be moved, they took me to the hospital, five miles away over rocky road. It's run by the Red Cross, but populated by Italian mammas who want to find a good American husband for their girls. They come bringing giant pots of soup, and enough food to, literally, feed an army. Then they show us their daughters' pictures and extol their virtues. Andalucia comes to visit me everyday--twice a day, brining meals from Mama Annunzio. Then she pulls up a chair and gossips to me in Italian. I can't understand her, but I know who she is talking about by how she looks at them. She is a bright, funny girl, and her family is wonderful. They are really the kindest family I have ever come across, and if I worked my whole life to repay them, I wouldn't even come close to paying my debt. They saved my life, Juliet. 

I'm not coming home--yet. I have a gash on my forehead from shrapnel, three broken ribs, and a punctured lung, and the hearing has gone tinny in my right ear from the loud blasts. But it may return. I've lost partial sight in one of my eyes--only partial, dear, don't worry. I barely notice it. Even will all of those maladies, I still must go back to the front. Things are picking up over here, and every man is needed. But here I'll stay for the next few weeks, playing the invalid, so write me soon and rescue me from my boredom. Andalucia is a sight for sore eyes, but not a very good conversationalist--since we don't speak the same language, you know. 

Yours, 

Allan. 

Juliet read certain parts of the letter over again. _The most beautiful girlAndalucia comes to visit me everydayshe is a sight for sore eyes_

She had been expressly forbidden by Mother to do anything strenuous until she was completely better, but Juliet stood now and slipped out of her bedroom slippers and into her boots. She was thinking of the letter she had written, not ten minutes before. 

"Allan loves her--Allan loves _her_," she said helplessly. "What a fool I am! Oh, I must get that letter before it's posted."


	14. Revelations

Juliet raced to the post office as fast as her still-weak legs could carry her.

"Please, Mrs. Drew," she said to the fat woman behind the desk. "I--I posted a letter this morning that I _didn't_ mean to send, and I want it back! Can you give it to me?"

Mrs. Bertie Shakespeare Drew, _nee_ Olive Kirk, pushed down her glasses and looked pityingly over their rims at Juliet. 

"I'm sorry, dearie," she said, and a tone which implied that she was most definitely _not_ sorry. "But I can't tamper with the mail. It's effedrall offense."

"It's what?" Juliet said desperately. 

"_EF_FEDRALL offense."

"A federal offense!" Juliet wailed. "Mrs. Drew--you don't understand. _I must have that letter back_. I--I"

For a moment Juliet hesitated. She did not want to tell the whole story to Mrs. Drew, who would spread it around the Island before you could say, "Malicious old gossip!" But she really did not see how she could get around it. 

"I wrote to someone," she confessed. "And told them--him--that I--would be willing to marry him! But I'm not anymore! Mrs. Drew, can't you see, if you don't give me that letter back, you'll have helped in the ruin of my reputation--and my life." Juliet swallowed the last remnants of her pride. "Oh, dear Mrs. Drew, such a _young, vivacious_ person as you _must_ remember what it's like to be in a situation like this! Even if you _are_ married."

"I understand you perfectly well, dearie," said Mrs. Drew. 

Juliet allowed herself to hope--just a little. 

"Although _I_ never allowed myself to get put in such a situation. You young girls are so flippant and flighty these days."

"You're a young girl yourself, Mrs. Drew," said Juliet weakly, trying the flattery approach again. 

"No, I ain't, I'm a mother with four boys under the age of ten and the beginnings of a dowager's cushion," Mrs. Drew retorted. "And I'll give your letter back to you--for a price."

"But I don't have any money!" Juliet felt tears pricking her eyes. 

"I'm not asking your for money. Did you hear me ask you for money, you silly girl? No. Mr. Drew and I would like to go away for our anniversary next week-end. Sixteen years we've been married. And we're having such a tough time getting someone to look after the boys. We certainly can't keep them home alone--not after last time. _You_ did such a good job with Marigold Guest's ragamuffins. Everyone's talking about it. Well, I wanted to ask you to watch the boys but I was afraid you would say no. If I give you your letter, you can't say no. You'll come and stay the weekend with John, Joe, Jim and Ernie. You hear? Have we got a deal?"

Juliet swallowed. The Drew boys were not charming "ragamuffins" like the Guest children, but tough, mean, big boys. But--she needed that letter.

"We have a deal," Juliet said. 

"Who'd you write the letter to?" said Mrs. Drew 

"Allan Miller," said Juliet, cheeks burning. 

"Oh my," said Mrs. Drew. "I thought you were writing to that King fellow. His family grew up over in Carmody, didn't they? Yes, girls today are fickle--very fickle. Don't look so surprised, dear, I work at the post office--I know everything that's going on around her."

Oh--this was terrible! And Mrs. Drew was terrible, too! But Juliet had gotten her letter. It was tucked into her stocking top, next to her bare skin. She walked home with a little extra bounce in her step--but she was not exactly happy. _Andalucia_--what kind of name was that? Even for an Italian! And how could Allan be in love with her when he couldn't even understand what she was saying? 

Still, she wouldn't burn the letter. It was too sweet for that. She would just put it away and forget about it. 

* * * 

Juliet found Doug in the kitchen and told him all about her encounter with horrible, fat Mrs. Drew at the post office. She left out the parts about the letter being to Allan--and what it was about, of course. She thought Doug might ask her, but he didn't. In fact--Doug didn't even seem to be paying attention!

"You haven't heard a word I've said!" Juliet chided after a few minutes of Doug staring off into space. "You're not even listening to me."

Douglas looked at her for a moment and then said, "So I suppose you know how it feels, now."

"Douglas!" Juliet frowned. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"I'm getting married," Doug said casually, getting up, and putting his supper dishes away. "Did you know that?"

Juliet's jaw had dropped. "Married! Towhom?"

"To Bella Priest," Douglas said. "We're moving to Guelph at the end of the summer. I'm going to teach Agriculture at the University there. Did you know that, either?"

"No!" Juliet whispered. "Doug--do Mother and Father know about this?"

Douglas banged the table with his fist, making everything on it--and Juliet--jump. "Of _course_ they know!" he shouted. "Everyone knows. Everyone but you. I've tried to tell you. Bella's tried to tell you a hundred times--she wants you to be her bridesmaid. I don't know why. You're so wrapped up in your own sordid _love affairs_"--oh, Doug's sarcasm was venomous!--"Trying to decide between Blair and Allan, Allan and Blair, that you don't have time for anyone else. Did you know that Bea is going out with David Walsh, a Halifax man who's thirty-six years old? He's sixteen years older than her. No, you didn't know. Did you know Mother got another book deal? No. You didn't. But she did. The only thing that matters to you lately is Juliet, Juliet, Juliet!"

Juliet opened her mouth--and closed it--and opened it again--and closed it. What could she say? Doug was--right. She was selfish--and self-centered--and a horrible sister and daughter. And friend. 

"I--I'm sorry," she said meekly, avoiding Doug's eye. "I didn't--realize. Do you think Bella will forgive me? I'm so--happy--for you Doug. I didn't even know you two even _liked_ each other that way. Oh, God. You're right, you're totally and completely right about me."

Doug looked at her pale little face and sat down again, turning her chair so that they were sitting knee to knee. 

"Look," he said. "I just lost my temper. You're not Hitler or anything, so calm down. Just--pay a little more attention to the rest of us sometimes. No one hates you, Juliet. It's pre-wedding jitters--I should have lashed out at you like that. And I apologize."

"When--is--the wedding?" Juliet asked. The word tasted foreign in her mouth. Doug! Having a wedding? Getting _married_? It was--so unreal. But--the more she thought about it--Doug and Bella really were well-suited for each other. Why hadn't she realized it before? Not well-suited_perfect_ for each other. They were both quiet, and loving, and somber at times. Both were dreamers. Both were _friends_. 

"First week of June," Doug said. "In the garden at Evensong. Uncle Dean is giving us Evensong as a present--he and Aunt Elizabeth will stay over at Priest Pond. So we'll be back here, for summers and vacations."

"That's only next month!" Juliet cried. "When were you going to tell me? When they started playing the Wedding March?"

"We meant to tell you in time to dress," Doug laughed, and the twins embraced. 

"I'm sorry to lose you," Juliet said. "But I am _happy_ for you! Oh, and Bella will be my sister!"

Juliet flew over to Priest Pond in the early spring twilight, with a present--a delicate lace handkerchief she'd made the previous winter. It was point lace--fine enough for any bride--and in one corner, Juliet had embroidered Bella's initials in blue silk. _IPK_for Isabella Priest Kent.That way it was the something _new_ and something _blue_. 

"I'm sorry, Bella," said Juliet shyly. "I hope you aren't mad at me."

"I'm not," Bella laughed, with a shake of her pale, almost white, curls. She really was a dear. Juliet had never seen her so contented. "I _have_ my true love--you are still looking for yours. Besides--a bride can't be mad at her _bridesmaid_, can she? I've asked you and Bea and Joyce. Think, Juliet, we'll be _sisters_!"

Later, Juliet went over to Bea's and made the same apology, and Juliet listened while Bea chattered on and on about David Walsh, who was a banker in Halifax. People were saying that she was only after him for his money--she wasn't. She was after him because he was deliciously handsome. And what else? Oh--nice? Well, yes, he was very nice, too. 

Bea had obviously forgiven her. 

The hardest to go to was Mother. Juliet cut a bouquet of purple irises--Mother's favorite flower--and brought them to her, while she was writing in the garret that night. 

"I'm sorry, Mother," said Juliet. "Douglas--has brought a few things to my attention, and I feel wretched that I've disregarded your feelings this way. May I have the privilege of reading your newest best-seller?"

"Certainly, you dear," Mother said. "And don't feel poorly--we're all allowed to have times where we think only of ourselves. Every once in a while--but don't let them become too frequent. And don't stop _loving_ anyone less because of it, Juliet. And," Mother's eyes twinkled, "If you want advice--_love_ advice--you can come to meI promise I won't use it as material for my next book." 

Juliet, leaped up and gave Mother a nice, strong hug. _What_ a wonderful Mother. 


	15. Full Circle

True to her word, Juliet barely thought of herself in the coming weeks. She didn't have time. There was so much to do! Every spare moment was spent in preparation for Doug and Bella's wedding. Uncle Dean had a landscaping company flown in from the States to refurbish the garden at Evensong, where the wedding would take place. The hedges and bushes were sculpted into the most beautiful shapes. The flowerbeds were filled with pink roses, and pink peonies and pink snapdragons--pink was Bella's favorite color, and the garden at Evensong was a veritable homage to _pink_. A bower was constructed out of twined roses, under which Doug and Bella would say their vows. Doug and Bella! Getting married! At times it still seemed so unreal. 

Bea and Joy Meredith came over everyday to help with the sewing on the bridesmaids dresses. They were a sweet pink cotton--it was the only thing available. They had not been able to get any silk since Christmas, and it was dearer than gold. If they had been able to get it, Uncle Dean would have surely paid for it. He spared no expense for his little girl's wedding--he never had spared any expense on her. Bella's dress would be made out of a silken, shimmery parachute--many of the war-time brides were doing that these days, and a cousin of Aunt Elizabeth's who was a pilot overseas had sent his. 

It was a lovely, moonlit thing, that dress. Mother and Aunt Elizabeth started work on it very early in the morning and sewed until the light was gone, with only a short break for lunch and tea. Juliet came home from Priest Pond one day, where she had been helping Bella with the flowers, to find Mother and Aunt Elizabeth in each others' arms, crying and laughing at the same time. 

"Oh! Juliet," said Mother. "Come here my darling little girl, come sit with us. Little Elizabeth and I were just being maudlin and thinking of our little babies--who have grown so f-a-a-ast!"

Mother blew her nose into her handkerchief. 

"Oh, stop, Emily," said Aunt Elizabeth, getting choked up herself. "My--little--Bella--was such a _sweet_ baby! And now she is grown so big! Why, it won't be long until she has babies of her _own!_"

The women wept and Juliet looked down at them with a furrowed brow. Aunt Elizabeth looked up and said, "Oh! The righteousness of nineteen thinks we're being silly, Emily. Juliet, Juliet, just wait until you have babies of your own. When you see them off for the first day of school--or make their bridal trousseau--"

"Or put them into short pants for the first time," cried Mother, and the women embraced again. 

"We're old--Emily, we're getting old," laughed Aunt Elizabeth.

"I must be old," sobbed Mother. "Since my little boy's old enough to marry! My--little baby--boy!"

"For heaven's sake!" said Juliet in exasperation. "Doug's getting married, Mother, he isn't _dying_. You two are crying all over Bella's dress." 

Mother and Aunt Elizabeth stopped crying very abruptly and anxiously shook out the dress to make sure it was free of water marks. In the late afternoon sun, the dress shivered and shimmered like a living thing. It was fluid and graceful, like a waterfall in the moonlight. Juliet touched it and breathed softly, "It's beautiful!"

Would _she_ ever wear a creation such as this? A dress made not just of cloth, but of dreams--and hope--and _love_?

"We really have done a stupendous job," said Aunt Elizabeth. "But it's a shame Bella will have no veil. Lace has become so hard to get. Dean called all the shops in Charlottetown--and Halifax to boot! _I_ didn't wear one, when Dean and I were married--just a big hat. But I wish I had, so that Bella could borrow it. She's dead set on a veil."

"I don't have one either," said Mother. "Daff--that terrible cat--snuck into my room and tore my lovely veil to shreds. Just a crown of sweet flowers for me--but Ilse had that gorgeous point lace veil and was willing to lend it to Bella. We went looking for it last weekend and found it in her garret, shoved into a box, moth-eaten, with water stains all over it. Isn't that just like Ilse? That veil! There had never been any veil like it on the Island. What a sad end for it. So poor Bella will have to make do with a crown of flowers as I did."

Mother heaved a sigh, but if there is a patron saint of brides, he or she must surely be listening to their pleas. For up the lane to New Moon walked Joy Meredith, with a brown paper bundle under one arm. She met them all on the verandah and handed the package to Aunt Elizabeth shyly. 

"It's my grandmother's veil," she said. "I told her that Bella wouldn't have one and Gran brought this down from the attic faster that you can say, "Point lace." It's been worn by many people--many happy brides. Gran wore it--and my mother--and Aunt Rilla--and Aunt Di. And Mrs. Joe Pryor, over-harbor, when she was married during the last war. It's a tradition for it to be worn only by happy brides--brides who are truly in love. So we had no qualms lending it to Bella. But I'll need it back soon--for my own wedding to Jake Penhallow. He'll be well enough to come home in July and we'll be married then!"

There was a triumphant note in Joy's voice. 

"Your grandmother has always been the most caring woman," said Aunt Elizabeth, opening the package and freeing the yards of ghostly white lace. "I shall never forget her kindness to me when I was young and unloved. She was the first person I remember who ever loved me--really loved me. And she has stayed the kindest person all of her life."

The moon came out over Lofty John's bush. Joy tripped back down the lane toward the Glen manse. Juliet leaned against the porch rail and dozed. It had been a long day. 

She woke up slightly whenever Mother and Aunt Elizabeth started laughing. _What_ was that story Mother was telling? Oh yes--the one about Doug, when he was very small. Mother and Father had come to collect them from Priest Pond after a night spent in town. The twins had never really been outside at night before and Douglas had looked up at the yellowy full moon and howled in terror, "Oh, Mother, there's a great big _hole_ in the sky!" How they all laughed at that story. How embarrassed Doug was by it. 

"Really, Little Elizabeth," Mother went on. "Things have come full circle. When I think of how it hurt me not to marry Dean all those years ago--we were such dear friends. I didn't want to hurt _him_. But I couldn't marry him--it wasn't true love that Dean and I had. But now our children are the ones who have found it in each other."

Juliet felt suddenly very wide away but she knew she must be asleep. Mother--engaged to Uncle Dean? How strange! To think she might have been Juliet _Priest_--or she might have never existed at all! This thought made Juliet go all shivery inside. 

She had never heard this story from Mother before, but she felt strangely comforted by it. 

"If Allan and I can't be together, maybe, one day, our children will find true love in one another," she thought drowsily, and drifted back to sleep. 


	16. The Twins Say Goodbye

Juliet could not sleep the night before Doug's wedding. She turned and tossed until her bedsheets were tangled around her legs, she counted sheep, she drank warm milk. Nothing helped. She was wide awake. She was awaker than awake. 

Finally she put her dressing gown on and crept out the verandah where she stared out at the low-hanging stars over Lofty John's bush. They reminded her of the old family story of the Lost Diamond. Mother had given Juliet the little pendant set with the Lost Diamond for her last birthday. She did not wear it often--she was afraid of losing it, but she often took it out to see it glimmer and shine. Juliet banished the thoughts of the Lost Diamond from her head. She felt queer. Why did she feel so queer? She was just over-excited. Doug's wedding was tomorrow! And this was--this was the last night Doug would spend under the New Moon roof. 

Oh, that was it. That was what this pent up feeling in her chest was. Once Juliet had let this thought cross her mind the tears began to fall. Why, she and Doug had never spent a night apart in their whole lives! Well, only once, went Aunt Ilse took she and Bea into Charlottetown overnight to see a ballet. And she had hated it--hated being away from Doug. Even whenever she spent the night with Bea, Doug came too, to spend the night with Allan. In kindergarten they had been put in separate classes and both brother and sister had sobbed until they were allowed to run out into the hall at recess and embrace. Finally, the teachers had moved them into the same class, and Juliet and Douglas had never really been separated again. 

"How shall I manage when he is away in Guelph?" Juliet cried. "I am happy for him--so happy--but from now on we will be separated always. Even when we are together we won't share the same _history_ after this. Our paths are diverging. Things will happen to Doug that I won't know about--and to me that he won't. It's as if we'd never been twins at all!" 

It was such a desolate thought! Juliet felt in the pocket of her gown and dug out an old handkerchief, and got right down to the soggy business of crying her heart out. 

Doug was beside her before Juliet even noticed his arrival. Perhaps some ghostly intuition had called him to her. The New Moon twins were not ones for ghostly and paranormal happenings--they were too happy for that. But somehow, Doug _did_ always know when Juliet needed him. 

"Oh!" she sobbed, throwing her arms about him. "Doug! I've just been thinking--about you going awa-a-ay! Promise, darling, that you won't forget about me and stop loving me."

"I could never forget my sister," Douglas grinned, his dark curls tousled from sleep. "My _big_ sister." Now Juliet grinned. She was four minutes older, and had used that fact to an advantage when she and Doug were small. "My _twin_," said Doug, suddenly serious, looking right into her eyes. "_Myself_."

Juliet dried her tears. "I feel better, then," she said, smiling. "Now that I have your word of honor. Oh, Doug, aren't you nervous at all? About tomorrow?"

"No," said Doug reflectively, leaning back in his chair. "I'm not, really. Because I know marrying Bella is _right_. I feel as if she's a part of myself, too. My best friend. The woman I love. I suppose I can't wait for us to start our lives together."

"How did you first _know_?" Juliet stammered. "I mean, that she was the woman you loved?"

"Well," said Douglas. "I think--I always knew, deep down. The night of the Valentine's Day dance--could it really be over two years ago now?--we were dancing, and I looked down at her and thought, suddenly, impossibly, that I'd never kissed her and couldn't think of a reason why. She was the most kissable, lovable thing I'd ever seen. So I did, and then she looked up at me and said, 'Doug Kent, I've been waiting my whole life for you to do that. Now do it again.' So I did. I suppose it's then that I really knew."

"Did you know right off that you would marry?"

Doug shook his head. "I knew all along, I suppose. Oh, Juliet, I can't give you straight answers on this. I barely know what to think myself about it. It's as if Bella and I just fell together one day, and it felt right--righter than anything else. I suppose I hadn't thought about marriage, really, until the day that I got news that I couldn't go and fight because of my ticker." Doug thumped his chest and smiled. "And I was low, and Bella said, 'Doug, don't be disappointed you can't go and fight. Now you're free to do other things.' 'Like _what_?' I said, and Bella said, 'Like marry _me_.' Then I sat on it for a while. I couldn't believe she was serious. But she was. I saw her eyes. So I bought a ring and asked her, and she accepted before I'd even finished asking." Doug had a shameless, silly grin on his face. 

"What about you, Juliet?" he asked suddenly. "I thought for a while you were engaged to Blair King. You had that look about you--as if your heart wasn't really your own anymore."

"Oh," Juliet said. "I was stupid. Blair and I were--but we aren't now--and I'm glad--glad! It would have been all wrong, I think."

"So it's Allan Miller, then?" asked Doug. 

"If Allan wanted--me--to be his wife, then I would," Juliet said, her voice giving only a fraction of the feeling that was in her soul. "But Allan's in love. With an Italian girl. Bea had a letter from him the other day--Mamma Annunzio wants Allan to stick around until Andalucia's old enough to marry, and Allan wrote that he just might take her up on that offer."

The old clock in the hall struck midnight, interrupting their reverie. "It's your wedding day!" Juliet whispered. "Oh, Doug! Don't you feel terribly--and horribly--_grown_ _up_?"

"I'd better go and get some sleep," said Doug, standing and stretching his arms over his head. "I'm sorry about your love woes, Sis. Allan won't marry the Italian girl--he'll come back for a wholesome PEI girl, wait and see."

"I'll wait--and see," laughed Juliet. "I do love him--so. But if one of us got to be lucky in love, Douglas, I'm glad it was you."

"See you tomorrow!" Doug said. "Not tomorrow--today! You'll recognize me, I'll be the one at the end of the aisle. Next to Reverend Meredith. With the grin on my face!" He went in the house and ran nimbly up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Leaving Juliet alone with the night. 


	17. The Wedding at Evensong

__

3 June 1944

__

Dear Allan, 

I've just waved the last guest off, and am now free to sit with my pen and paper and write a nice long letter to you, full of the details of Bella and Doug's wedding. I'm still in my bridesmaids dress. There's a terrible rip under the shoulder from dancing, and a stain near the hem where Cathy Douglas spilled her glass of punch all over me. It was an accident, but Cathy felt so bad about ruining my dress that she tipped the rest of it onto her own dress--on purpose. But I don't care about my dress. It was such a happy, rollicking, gay wedding that nothing could have spoiled my mood. We were all so happy--the only thing that could have made us happier would have been if you had been there! Doug said that if he couldn't have you, he wouldn't have a Best Man. And he kept his word--he didn't. 

You should have seen the garden at Evensong--the Garden of Eden couldn't have been prettier. There were tables set up, with white linen cloths on them, and white fairy lights strung up in the trees. The guests were seated in rows in the garden, and the rest of us were in the house, waiting for the processional. Trudy Ford began to sing 'Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring,' which was our cue to walk. Joy, Bea and I started out. And oh, Allan, I made such a fool of myself. I looked down at my lovely bouquet--and there was a fat, jolly bumblebee buzzing away on it. You know how I've always hated bees! I'm irrationally afraid of them--always have been, always will be! I gave a little gasp--a little shriek--and shook my bouquet madly with both hands until the bee flew away. Unfortunately, I did this in clear view of everyone else. The guests must have thought I'd had a fit. Mother looked quite appalled. But Bella, who was behind me, had seen it all, and I was glad for my hijinks then, because Bella had been a bit pale and nervous before, but now she looked radiant. I heard Mrs. Sidney Gardner say to her friend that she'd never seen a happier bride. 

I suppose I made a fool out of myself again when Doug and Bella said their vows. All three of us 'maids did--we bawled like little babies. It was just so sweet. They recited that passage from Ruth, you know, 'Whither thou goest I will go' Joy admitted later that she bawled because she was thinking of her own upcoming wedding to Jake Penhallow, and was worrying that it wouldn't be half as nice as this one. Bea told us that she was crying because she didn't think Mr. Walsh meant to ask her to marry him at all. I don't really know why I was crying. 

Doug and Bella finished their vows and Reverend Meredith pronounced them man and wife. I'd never seen Doug so happy! We all clapped for them. I pounded my hands together so hard and fast--I felt like the smile would slip right off my face if I stopped. I thought then about how horribly I shall miss Doug, and didn't think I could bear it. But then he grabbed me and kissed me on the cheek and said, "I won't_ ever be further than a 'phone call, so get that look off your face, Big Sister." So I did. _

We had a delicious supper in the garden and then we danced--Uncle Dean brought a band all the way from Montreal. Oh, and Allan! I met Bea's famous Mr. David Walsh. He's a nice fellow. He does_ have a little gray hair--but just around the ears. Bea is very sensitive of it, so don't mention it! She is more sensitive about it than he is, I think. Anyway, he is a perfectly nice man, and a terrific dancer--he took me on a whirl around the floor and I could barely keep up. "I've had a lot of practice," he laughed, when I complemented him on it. "I was dancing the Charleston when you were in diapers!" Jake and Joy didn't dance on account of his leg, but they looked happier than anyone else just sitting next to one another. The elder Mrs. Dr. Blythe, Joy's Gran, was sitting with them. She is a tiny lady with snow-white hair. I told you about her, she is the one who lent Bella her veil. "I'll lend it to you, too," she told me. "When your time comes. You look like a woman with the capacity to love--and love _well."

Uncle Dean gave a speech in which he called Bella the 'child of his life,' and told us all how glad he was that Doug would be taking care of her now, since he, Uncle Dean, was getting too old too keep up! It was sweet. And Allan, you should have seen the hat your mother was wearing. It was purple, with a violet feather that shot two feet up in the air and blocked my view of everything!

__

Bella gathered the unmarried girls together to toss the bouquet. Then she looked at me--and smiled--and threw it right at me. I caught it for a second--held it in my grasp--and then Bea wrenched it from my hand and ran away! That minx! Joy and I chased her for a bit, but soon gave up. Bea's always been very quick. Anyway, she'd been gloating all afternoon, but I am the one who caught it really_. I'm sure she will write about it to you, Allan, so I wanted you to know the way it really happened. _

Bella changed into her going-away dress--a fluffy, pink-edged cream-colored creation that Uncle Dean brought her all the way from Paris, with a pink hat with a huge brim. I helped her get her things together for the train ride. She and Douglas are going to Niagara Falls for a week, and then will move into their little house in Guelph. It is a delicious, charming little house, even if it is in the city. I hear it was designed by Hilary Gordon, the famous architect, which probably explains it. I cannot wait to visit them and see it in person. 

"Mrs. Kent, I'm Mrs. Kent," Bella kept saying. "It sounds so old--Mrs. Kent is your_ mother!"_

"I'm sure you will get used to it, dear," I said. 

And then they were gone--we waved and shouted to the car as it went around the last bend--and strangely, the lump I expected to find in my throat was no where to be found. Douglas is right. He will never be further than a phone call away. And he is happy. So happy. 

Allan, dear, I am so glad_ to hear you are getting well! When you wrote that the hearing had returned in your ear I cried. I was glad--glad--gladder than glad! I got your letter with the picture of New Moon that Andalucia that drew. Tell her thanks from me. She is a very accomplished artist, but you must be sure to mention that there are no mountains in PEI! Also, we have red roads. And please tell the Annunzio's how grateful I am to them for taking such good care of you. They will always have an admirer in_

Your friend,

Juliet


	18. 6 June 1944

Juliet had a terrible day the day after the wedding--the house was desolate. Everything reminded her of Douglas. Douglas, who was a husband, with a wife to tell his secrets to. He did not need a twin. She spent exactly one day moping. She went into his bedroom and rearranged the old shoes in his closet. They really should probably have been thrown away--they were old sneakers, and work boots. But it gave Juliet a feeling of comfort to see them there, arranged in neat rows. As if Douglas would soon be coming back.

The next day she was a bit low in the morning, but in the afternoon went to the pictures with Joy and Trudy and came back laughing and merry. The day after that, Juliet had almost forgotten Doug had gone away. So what if he had! Next week he and Bella would be in Guelph--she'd call him on the telephone then. In the meantime, she'd write him a long letter. Mother and Father exchanged sighs of relief. Juliet would be fine. They heard her sweet, clear voice singing as she washed the supper dishes: 

__

Would you like to swing on a star

Carry moonbeams home in a jar?

Emily woke that night to find a shivering Juliet standing by her bed. 

"Oh, Mother!" she said. "I'm so frightened, Mother!"

"What is it, Juliet?" Mother said. "Did the telephone ring? Is it Allan? Doug and Bella--"

"It's not that," said Juliet, wrapping her arms around her thin, shaking frame. "They're all fine. Only--I had the most terrible dream, Mother. I know it's silly, a grown person like me getting scared of a dream! But, Mother, it was so _real_."

Mother--dear, comforting Mother-- pulled the covers back and made room for Juliet to climb in next to her. 

"Darling, get close to me," Mother said. "Now tell me about this dream that's frightened you so."

"I was standing on the shore in my old bathing suit," Juliet began. "You remember my old, raggedy, striped suit, Mother?"

"Yes, beanpole," said Mother, with a smile. 

"Well, I was looking out at the ocean. It was dawn, and there were faint streaks in the east, on the horizon. I stood there, waiting and waiting for the sun to come up, but it didn't! All of a sudden the sky went very dark, and as I watched, men began to rise up out of the water. Dozens of them--hundreds, thousands even! There was blood on their lips--on their clothes--the water was red from it. I wanted to run, but I couldn't--I was rooted to the spot. The men got closer and closer--one touched my arm--I looked down to see that he was a soldier. There was an American flag on his breast. 'This is the end,' he said, his eyes hollow and blazing. 'This is the end of it all.'"

"That sounds terrible indeed," said Mother, shivering too, now. 

"The strangest thing, Mother, was that I didn't feel especially frightened while it was happening. Only when I woke up and thought about it. I have the eeriest feeling that something is going to happen."

"It was only a dream," said Mother. "'Full of sound a fury, signifying nothing,' as Shakespeare would say. Darling, nothing is going to happen. Hush, now, and sleep."

Juliet did sleep, peacefully now, with a smile on her lips, but when she woke it was to the news of the Allied Forces most historic invasion--the one that would turn the tide of the war. Juliet stared, aghast, and Mother eyed her grimly as the radio announcer described it--a thousand men, rising from the sea, and storming the beach at Normandy. 

"The waters of the English Channel were red with the blood of the fallen men," said the radio announcer valiantly. "But the able ones went onward--toward victory!"

"Red with blood," Juliet said through white lips. "Red with _blood_?"

"This is D-Day!" said Uncle Perry, slapping his knee, and turning the sound on the radio up. "By George, I never knew Eisenhower had it in him. I feel bad now, criticising him for doing nothing when the whole while he's been planning this."

"This is very--like--your dream, isn't it, Juliet?" asked Father, his brow furrowed. 

"No--no," Juliet said, and grabbed her pencils and paper, and fled upstairs.

"How did she know?" breathed Mother. "Oh, how?"

"The same way you knew my mother had fallen into the well, Emily," said Auntie Ilse. "The same way that you found that little boy locked up in the house all those years ago"

"Oh, Ilse, please," Emily implored. "Those were merely coincidences. I'm being silly--Juliet didn't know. She couldn't have. It is another amazing coincidence."

"_Very_ amazing," said Uncle Perry. "I told you it was Jewel on our lawn the night Allan was found."

"It was not," said Emily. "Juliet was in bed, so ill with scarlet fever that she could hardly breathe, much less walk cross-lots to your house in the snow! She did _not_ predict D-Day. Stop being foolish, Perry."

Uncle Perry nodded complacently, and they all listened quietly to the news. But when Uncle Perry and Aunt Ilse stepped out to go home, Uncle Perry said to Emily, 

"If that girl of yours has any more of her dreams, alert the media. Ha ha!"

"Do you remember when I almost sailed on the _Flavian_?" Teddy asked his wife when they were gone. 

"That was nothing like this!" said Emily. 

Teddy looked coolly at her. "Like it or not, Emily," he said. "That child's inherited more from you than just her pointed ears."

* * *

__

It is an amazing coincidence, as Mother said, Juliet wrote to Allan_. That I should dream a dream like that--the night before this! I always used to think I had the second sight when I was young. Do you remember how I tried to guess your thoughts? And then Bea told me you were making them up, making them easy for me to guess, because you didn't want to hurt my feelings. How I wished I had the ability to see into the future then! Would it snow and cancel school tomorrow? Would we have a math test next week? But now--I don't know. I think I'd prefer not to have that particular ability, if this is what it's like. I've had a shivery feeling--like a bird--perching on my spine all day. Your father insists that this supports his theory that it was me on his lawn, telling him about your safety all those months ago. But I said to him, with my best Murray haughtiness, 'Uncle Perry, I have decided that it was only my subconscious. I must have, from listening so much to the radio, figured out the most likely military maneuvers in my sleep.'_

'Well, girl,' Uncle Perry said, 'This military maneuver was completely unexpected by anyone, so if you're figuring that out in your sleep, you deserve FDR's job. Can a Canadian lass be President of the United States? I'd give you my vote--with a talent like that!'

I did have a horrible feeling about the dream when I woke up from it--'This is the end,' the soldier said. It sounded so--apocalyptic. But I realize I was misconstruing him--he meant it was the beginning of the end of the war. 

That is, if my dreams means anything, which it doesn't. It was just a dream, Allan, and I won't have you teasing me about it! You are a dreadful tease sometimes. Just a dream. That's all. And I hope I don't have another like it. 


	19. Of Love Affairs

Juliet did _not_ have another dream--as least, not another prophetic dream. She had one terrible dream where she walked up the church aisle in her apron--and nothing else!--and another where she made a cake and then realized she hadn't used any flour, and had to scramble around trying to find out what she'd used instead. In fact, she'd almost forgotten about that one dream, as summer drifted on, warm and cloudless. In no time at all it was July, and Joy Meredith was getting married. Mrs. Jacob Penhallow, now. Juliet was again a bridesmaid, and again Mrs. Dr. Blythe's veil was worn. Only the color of the bridesmaid dresses had changed--these were a pale blue--and the cast of characters was slightly different. And there were no wayward bumblebees to cause a disturbance. 

"Everyone is getting married," said Juliet dejectedly one August evening. "For the girls with no especial love affairs going on it's hard. But I must remember how I felt when I was 'engaged' to Blair--yes, I must use quotation marks around that. I don't feel as if we were really engaged at all because I don't feel I ever really _knew_ Blair. But at the time, I felt as if everyone in the world must be as excited as I was. So I'll sit back, and try to share in everyone else's excitement, and try to forget that I don't know where I stand with Allan at _all_. That's my resolution."

Juliet made this resolution none too soon, because that evening Bea came over and announced that she and Mr. Walsh were engaged. Well, not really engaged, but engaged to _be_ engaged. Aunt Ilse had issued a dictum--Bea must wait until her twentieth birthday before she was allowed to be engaged. But Bea did have a lovely ring waiting on her right hand.

"They're hoping that David will lose interest," Bea said hotly, dashing angry tears from her eyes. "But he won't. He loves me."

"I think," Juliet volunteered. "That Aunt Ilse is just worried. Mr. Walsh--I mean, _David_--is quite a bit older that you, Bea."

"So what?" Bea retorted. "Uncle Dean is almost _thirty_ years older than Aunt Elizabeth, and look how well that turned out!"

"All that matters is if you're _happy_, Bea. I think Mr. Wal--_David_ is wonderful."

"I'm vastly satisfied with myself," said Bea. "I only wanted David at first because I thought I couldn't have him. And then when I got him, I realized I couldn't live without him. But are _you_ happy for me, Juliet?" Bea looked at her earnestly as her fat diamond ring winked bluish sparkles all over the room. It was almost twice the size of Juliet's own ring from Allan, but somehow not half as pretty. 

"Yes," said Juliet. "Of course I am!"

"Well, I thought you might be," said Bea. "But I couldn't be sure. After all--you and Blair King would be deep in your own engagement if it hadn't been for me."

"I'm _really, truly_ happy for you," Juliet laughed. "And I _was_ mad about Blair when it happened. But Bea, sending that letter turned out to be the best thing you could have done for me, in the long run. I swear that I'm not mad now."

"I'll make it up to you, I swear I will," Bea promised. "Have you heard anything about Blair King lately?" 

"Yes--I saw Rachel King in Charlottetown when I went up for the Exhibition last month. Blair's fine. His plane was shot down over the Philippines, but he was able to make it back to camp unharmed. He's writing to Hannah Ford over in the Glen--and she's only sixteen! A baby. It's just further proof that love affairs are _everywhere_." Juliet grinned. "But on to other topics--do you think Allan fancies that Italian girl? Andalucia? He writes of her so often."

Juliet tried to keep her voice light and inquisitive, but she couldn't help looking down at the little ring on her own left hand as she said it. Maybe Allan wouldn't want her wearing it on her _left_ hand? He had asked her to so long ago. Years, in fact. Of course his feelings had changed since then!

"I don't know," said Bea, truthfully, missing nothing in Juliet's glance. "He does write of her an awful lot. But Juliet--I think--if you wrote him and told him that you loved him _that_ way--he'd drop her like a hot coal. He's always loved you, Juliet. I remember when we were learning our letters Mother told us to write a special message to someone. I wrote my name, over and over, but Allan wrote _your_ name, over and over. He was a baby! And he loved you then."

"But I don't want him to drop anyone," Juliet said hotly. "Either he wants me or he doesn't. I _did_ write a letter to him, Bea, telling him that I _would_ marry him after all, but I never mailed it. And I won't. I know I should--but I'm too stubborn for that. I don't want to have to convince Allan to love me--I want him to love me _naturally_."

"Juliet!" came Mother's voice from downstairs. "You've left your things scattered across the kitchen. Come and pick them up, please, now!"

Juliet rolled her eyes at Bea and went meekly to do Mother's bidding. Sometimes she still felt like such a child. It seemed impossible that she was old enough to have any love affairs of her own at all. 

* * *

After supper Juliet searched the cubbyhole in her desk for that sweet, dear little letter she'd written to Allan long ago. Perhaps she would send it, after all. What had she to lose? And she did love him so.

She could not find it. Juliet tore frantically around her room, looking under cushions and shaking out books to see if it had been tucked between the leaves. Nothing. She could not find it _anywhere._

"I suppose it's an omen," Juliet said dejectedly. "If I was meant to be with Allan, I would have found it, and sent it. But I'm not, obviously. But--I wish I was."


	20. VE Day!

The rest of the year seemed to fly by, with news of victory after victory reaching their ears. Surely the war would be over soon? It did not rule their lives with fear as much in the recent months--not since D-Day. They all felt buoyed up, and hopeful. There were even noises made about Juliet possibly going off to university to do a degree in the fall. But--in _what?_ She was no closer to finding her life's calling now than she'd been four years ago. She didn't really want to learn to write, or paint, or do sums and figures. She knew all she needed to know about the rocks and the trees around New Moon. Bea was going to do a course in Domestic Science at Redmond. 

"Because I want to be the perfect wife for David," she said proudly. 

But Juliet already could make a cake that was as light as a feather, and balance the household budget perfectly. 

"You could go and do a course in literature," said Mother. 

"I do like to read," Juliet mused. "But I _don't_ like to write about what I've read. It takes the fun out of it. I'd rather just enjoy it."

"Politics!" was Uncle Perry's idea. 

"But women can't run for office," Juliet reminded him. 

"Not today--but soon--soon!" Uncle Perry said. 

Aunt Ilse said that Juliet should do a course in fashion design. But then Aunt Ilse looked over some of Juliet's drawing and concluded that perhaps it would be best if she didn't. Juliet Kent and Ilse Miller had very different ideas about what was fashionable. 

So the idea was dropped. They didn't really have the money to send her anyway as of yet--business in Father's gallery had been moderate but not good. People did not buy paintings when there was still a war going on. 

Juliet was glad to stay home. Mother was writing another book, so she took complete control of the day-to-day household affairs. She managed to put three square meals on the table without using any butter, sugar or flour, all of which were being heavily rationed. She went to the pictures with Bea and Joy, and throughout the winter was courted by one of the Lewison boys over at the Bay Shore.

Juliet allowed Rob Lewison to take her to dances and dinner-dates. She even allowed him to kiss her. He was a nice boy--with dark, unruly hair and peculiarly light brown eyes. He listened to her, and though he was not a romantic like Blair, Juliet could see in his eyes how much he liked her, though he seldom expressed it in words. He hadn't gone off to fight because he had a slight limp--but Juliet didn't mind it. It have him a jaunty, jolly gait, as if he were in a hurry to get everywhere. Rob was a banker in Charlottetown. For weeks the family heard of nothing but Rob this, and Rob that. 

"I believe if he asks her, she'll marry him," said Mother to Aunt Ilse sadly. They had never quite given up hope that there would be a match between their respective daughter and son. 

Rob _did_ ask her--a whispered, hurried little question in the car as they parked in front of New Moon one night. Juliet almost said yes--there was a full moon after all. But out of the corner of her eye she saw Allan's ring, still gleaming on her finger. She hadn't removed it, not for a second, since that day when she heard that he was found.

"No--no!" Juliet gasped. "I'm sorry Rob--but no, no thank you. I can't marry you at all. And--I don't think we should go out on dates together anymore. Goodnight!"

Juliet went up to her room and cried. When she was young she thought she would like to have men proposing to her all the time. She had imagined refusing them gratefully, with a dignified air about her. She never imagined it was going to be like _this_. Why, it hurt--horribly!

"I wish I _hadn't_ had to refuse him," Juliet wept. 

"Why _did_ you, then?" Mother asked, eyeing the distraught Juliet. 

"Because I can't marry him," said Juliet. "Rob is a terribly nice fellow, Mother, but he pales in comparison to--to"

"To Allan," Mother finished for her, patting her hand. 

"But I could have been _happy_ with Rob Lewison," Juliet cried. "I _like_ him ever so much."

Mother nodded wisely. Yes, Juliet had made the right decision. Emily Kent knew the difference between _love_ and _like_. 

A few other lads haunted New Moon throughout the winter, squiring Juliet to the Christmas and New Year's dances, taking her ice-skating and out to the new Chinese restaurant in Shrewsbury. Juliet neither encouraged nor discouraged them in their affections, and soon they all grew tired of waiting and faded off into the woodwork. 

In the early spring Juliet went to visit Bella and Doug. They had been married nearly a year and were the picture of marital bliss. What a dear, sweet, slate-roofed house they had. And their car, with the enormous tail fins! Bella kept the house very neat and cozy, and there were always students of Doug's coming to call. Several of them looked disappointed that Professor Kent's twin sister would not be staying in Guelph permanently.

Before her visit ended, Bella pulled Juliet aside to tell her what she and Doug hoped for later in the year--around Christmastime, actually. Juliet threw her arms around Bella in excitement. 

"I'm going to be an aunt!" she said, and tried out the words, "Aunt Juliet!"

Back to New Moon--it was the height of spring. The delicate, starry mayflowers were out. The honeysuckle in the old graveyard carried its sweet scent everywhere. The leaves on the trees were the palest, goldest green. Everything seemed fresh and new, they way it does after a spring rain. Juliet ran around the place and bathed in the beauty of it all. 

"I feel as if something _wonderful_ were about to happen," she said. "But I always feel that way in spring!"

It was a feeling, not a prophecy, but something good happened anyway. Juliet went back to the house and found Mother weeping into her chicken salad in the kitchen. Juliet stared at her in wonderment. 

"It just came through on the radio," Mother said, smiling through her tears. "Germany is suing the Allies for peace."

Juliet sat--stood--walked in circles around the kitchen--and like Mother, laughed and cried. 

It didn't mean the war was over--Japan was still in the fight. No, it didn't mean peace--yet. But they were halfway there. 

"I shall always remember this day," said Juliet, sitting out on the verandah, with Bea. "I'm going to stay up all night--I want this day to last for as long as possible. Bea, I hadn't realized what a big weight has been on my chest all of these years until it was lifted! Japan _can't_ last much longer. Allan will be coming home soon--soon!--now."

"Coming home--to _you_," said Bea cryptically, but wouldn't say anything more. 


	21. Poetry in Life

Japan _didn't _last much longer. In August the terrible news of Hiroshima and Nagasaki came through on the radio. Juliet felt sick as the newspapers carried pictures of the damage that had been done by the atom bombs. _That_ had been a building--_there_ was a child's shoe. Those people--all of those people--they might be the enemy but they were still people!

"I don't know if victory is worth _this_," she whispered. 

"Things will never be the same again," Uncle Perry said. "Splitting the atom has changed the way wars will be fought from now until the end of time."

"Perry the Pessimist," Aunt Ilse said. "There will never be another world war like this one."

"That's what we said after the Great War, Ilse," Mother reminded her. "Our children will say the same thing about this one--and our children's children will prove them wrong."

"Well, this war will be over _soon_," said Aunt Ilse, clasping her hands together. "It _must_. I want my boy home. Will Japan never surrender, or do the Allies have to drop _another_ bomb?"

The grown-ups began to argue about what an atom bomb would do to the environment. Juliet could take it no more. She would smash the radio if she didn't get away--soon. She went out to walk in the humid night air. I had rained earlier, and it would rain before the night was over. How much she took for granted in her own life! The newspapers were reporting that a hideous acid rain was falling now on parts of Japan. Nuclear fallout, they called it. If you were caught out in it, it left burns on your skin. Oh, terrible--terrible! 

Soon the sky became more threatening and Juliet realized that it would storm before her walk was over. She looked around dismally and tried to calculate how long it would take to get home. No, she couldn't make it. Priest Pond was closest--she would go there and hope Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Dean were not sleeping. Perhaps she could spend the night, or stay until the storm was over. Fat, cold raindrops dotted her hair and dress. Lightning flashed in the distance and thunder rolled ominously, matching her mood. 

"Come in, child, come in," said Uncle Dean, who was in his pajamas and robe but not asleep. "Little Elizabeth has gone to visit Bella and Douglas for the week-end. Bella's getting more and more nervous as the time for the baby gets closer. Can you believe I'm going to be a grandfather? Can you believe I'm not _already? _I'm certainly old enough to be, times and times over. Well,I'm all alone and I could use the company tonight. Come in."

Juliet went up to Bella's old room and dried her hair, and changed into a clean, dry, faded dress that was hanging in the closet. Uncle Dean was puttering in the kitchen. When Juliet went back down he presented her with a mug of tea. 

"Would you like to listen to the radio, Jewel?" 

"No!" said Juliet adamantly. "Definitely not. It's all news today Uncle Dean and--and I can't take it! It's so horrible. How do we live with ourselves as human beings after something like this?"

"We do the best we can," Uncle Dean said. "When I was your age, Juliet, I remembered being terrified of the idea of dying. So terrified that I couldn't sleep at nights, sometimes. It was such a frightening prospect. To put in a dark box, laid in the ground, and covered over, separated forever from everything you love right here on earth."

Juliet shivered. She, too, was afraid of this. How could she live--apart from Mother, and Father, and Douglas, and New Moon? If heaven didn't have those things--Juliet thought she would not like heaven at all. 

"But as I've grown older," Uncle Dean continued. "I grow more and more weary of this earth. Yes--I love Bella, and I love Little Elizabeth, and I would love to see my grandchild grow up. But I'm getting too old to take much more of the horrors of this world. I want to be at peace. So I've made death into a friend. But I _do_ wonder and worry about my little descendant, born this Christmastime. What kind of world is this for him to be born into?"

"Or _her_ to be born into," Juliet smiled. 

"Or her," Uncle Dean concluded. "We won't listen to the radio, Jewel. We'll pretend this is a less noisy and tiresome age. We'll light candles and read, yes, _read_. There will be ghostly shadows on the walls, and we'll be better able to appreciate the grandeur of this storm that wants to shake my house off its foundation. Maybe if we're lucky, the power will go out all together. Come, let's go into my library and raid the shelves."

Uncle Dean pulled _Heroditus_ off the shelf for himself. "There is nothing like reading about ancient wars during a modern one," he said. "It makes you realize that human beings haven't changed--and won't, not if we're given a thousand thousand years in which to develop. Our techniques get better, yes, but our motives haven't changed. We want to dominate still--and control."

Juliet pulled a slender volume of poetry off of the shelf and curled up with it in front of the candle, which _did _cast ghostly shapes over everything, as Uncle Dean had promised. But she could not concentrate. She read the same lines over and over again,

__

If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain. 

What did that mean? Juliet tugged at her hair in frustration. What was one person's own suffering when people all over the world were dying, or starving? Why help one if you couldn't help _all_? Why did some people receive and others never? What did it matter if Allan did or did not love her when thousands upon thousands of people all over the world had died? Juliet suddenly felt so sick with herself that she launched the poetry book across the room. The spine broke and pages flew everywhere. 

She gasped and felt immediately contrite when Uncle Dean's eyes set on her. 

"I--I'm sorry," Juliet whispered. "Oh, Uncle Dean, I'll buy you another copy. Just tell me where you got it"

Uncle Dean smiled kindly at her. "The only person who is angry with you is Miss Dickinson. She's probably rolling in her grave. I often feel like doing that myself lately," he said thoughtfully. "Which is why I stick to history. There's not much comfort in reading poetry on a day like today, is there, young Juliet?"

"There's no poetry in life anymore at all," said Juliet morosely. 

"Juliet," said Uncle Dean, "Those people in Hiroshima and Nagasaki did _not_ die in vain. They died more valiantly than any other person ever will--they are heroes more than you and I could hope to be. They lost their lives in the struggle to end the greatest war known to man. There will be peace because of that sacrifice. Do you not think that is poetry?"

"You're right," Juliet said, tears rolling down her face. "It is."

"There is no poetry in life," Uncle Dean quoted, and then continued:

__

There is no poetry in life,

There is no vale outside my door.

And if there was a limpid brook,

I'd scarcely know what it was for. 

Poetry's a saucy lass

Who flies from whence to whither

You cannot force her feet to pass

Or try to draw her hither. 

Pretend that life's poetical !

You'll find that you can't fake it 

No, there's no poetry in life

But if there is, you_ make it._

"Now," Uncle Dean said. "Come into my library again. We'll find you something else to read. Some history--you children are taught nothing of history in schools. I've a biography of Anne Boleyn. Come pour over that."

Juliet did, and found it vastly interesting. Nevertheless, her eyelids felt heavy and began to close, and in a few minutes she was fast asleep. 

Uncle Dean chuckled to himself. "Works every time." He covered her with a blanket and there Juliet slept, peacefully, until she awoke to a fresh, clear, cloudless morning--and the news that the war was over. Japan had finally surrendered. 


	22. The Last Time She Saw Him

The men started coming home in September. Every day a crowd gathered when a train arrived at the station--a cheer went up for each man in khaki that stepped off. Gilbert Ford was the first to return--he stepped off the train, to a raucous and grateful cheer, and with tears in his eyes gathered Cathy Douglas into his arms. Before the teeming crowd he bent her over backwards and kissed her. Everyone cheered and clapped and a photographer from a Charlottetown newspaper snapped a picture that soon became famous the world over. _The Kiss Felt Round the World, _they called it. 

Juliet knew almost every boy that stepped off. Alec Douglas, and Cliff Howard had been in her class at school. There was Cooper Flagg, and Ted Wright. Dozens of men, the same boys Juliet had known--but at the same time, not the same. Each man wore some scars of battle, whether they be physical scars or just a hard, weary look in the eyes. When Mark Elliot stepped off the train he knelt and kissed the red, PEI soil under his feet, and then sobbed so hard and long that his mother had had to lead him home, like a little boy. But no one who saw that could honestly say that _they_ didn't have tears in their eyes, too. 

Juliet went to the station every day, even though Allan had written that it might be months before he would come. He really had no idea. Maybe he would surprise her, he wrote, by just showing up one day. _I wonder if you've changed any?_ Allan wrote. _I worry that I won't recognize you. Isn't that silly_? 

It _was_ silly, but Juliet worried about the same thing. Oh, of course Allan would recognize her--she hadn't altered that much. Her hair was shorter, of course, and there was a bit of a haunted look in her slate-colored eyes. Not to mention a persistent frown line that had popped up on her forehead. She must try to relax and make it go away. The war had been hard on them all. 

But what if _Allan_ had changed? He couldn't have been through so much without changing drastically. Juliet wondered if _she_ would recognize _him_! He had gone away when he was just a boy, and now he was coming home a man. Anyway, Allan hadn't said anything in his letters about loving her. He _must_ have forgotten. Perhaps he was betrothed to Andalucia, the Italian girl. Juliet looked down at her left hand. Likely that _she_ had a little, dear ring of her own. 

"I suppose I _should_ start thinking of going to college this fall," Juliet said. She knew what she would study if she did: history. She'd finished that biography of Anne Boleyn that Uncle Dean leant her, and also _Heroditus_, and many other great works. She wanted to know more, to find out more, to be able to conquer and become friends with the past. 

"I want to know how we got here," she mused. "I want to know why there are wars--why we can't learn from our past mistakes."

It was so delightful to go into town now! Mother and Juliet and Bea and Aunt Ilse went every day, even if they didn't especially need anything. It was such fun to see the red and white banners hanging from shop windows, and the handsome soldiers kissing pretty girls in the streets. They could buy sugar now, and flour, and coffee, and oh, wasn't it grand! Everything seemed fresh and new again. Aunt Ilse had bought eight pairs of silk stockings. 

"I've missed you, darlings!" she cried, holding the packets to her lips and kissing them like a mad-woman. "Silk stockings! I've seen you in my dreams. Juliet, haven't you missed silk stockings?"

"No," Juliet laughed. "I was too young to wear them before the war, and then when I was old enough, there were none to be found."

"Shocking!" said Aunt Ilse. "I'm going to go buy you a pair."

Juliet smiled to herself and went over to join the line at the grocers. She needed sugar, and eggs and butter--she was going to make a cake--Doug and Bella were coming in for a visit the next day and they would have a luscious, plummy, cake--the kind of cake they'd had before the war and hadn't had since!

She listened to the happy chat around her. You could find out so many things just be listening to what other people said when they thought you weren't paying attention. So Gilbert and Cathy would be married. Juliet smiled. Good for them. And Rhonda Perlman had been thrown over by her beau? Good again. Juliet's smile widened--she'd never forgotten what Rhonda Perlman had said about Doug. 

She turned her head to find Mother and Aunt Ilse. There was Mother at the bookshop. She waved. And Aunt Ilse was buying up every available pair of silk stockings. She was haggling with the dressmaker's son. And there, over by the hardware store was--could it be--no, it definitely was--!

Blair King! She hadn't heard he was home. He was standing in his normal clothes. Why, Juliet realized that she'd never seen him out of uniform. He brushed a lock of wavy dark hair from his eyes, which were crinkling at the corners because he was smiling. At her. Juliet had forgotten about that. How that smile had caused her to go weak in the knees back in the day! She tried her knees now. No, they were not shaking. 

Blair turned his head and their gazes met--and held. He said something to the carpenter, and crossed the square over to her. Juliet stayed firmly where she was. She would not go to him. He walked right over and stood in front of her, brushing the hair again out of his eyes. Up close Juliet could see that the lines around his eyes were not from smiling. They were worry-lines, and they would never go away. His face was tanned all over from spending so much time on the air-carrier in the Pacific. He looked so much--older--that Juliet felt her little white flame of anger give way into something like pity--and compassion.

"Hello, Juliet," he said in that same deep voice. 

"Hello, Blair," said Juliet sweetly. 

"You look--beautiful."

"So do you--I mean, you don't look beautiful, but you look well. I'm glad to see you, Blair." Juliet meant it sincerely. "I'm glad to see you home so safe and sound."

There was an awkward pause. Neither knew what to say. Finally Blair spoke. 

"Listen," he said. "I'll cut right to the chase. I know we didn't leave things on the best terms. I understand the whole story now, and I'm sorry. Juliet, I've always had a soft spot for you, and I always will. We could--rekindle--things if you wanted. "

"What--about--Hannah Ford?" Juliet choked out. 

"What about her?" Blair said. "She's sixteen years old, Juliet. I'm twenty-four. I don't love Hannah Ford. I couldn't."

"You don't love me, either," said Juliet firmly. 

"No," said Blair. "But I did."

"That was so long ago," protested Juliet. 

"I'm lying," said Blair. "I'm sorry. I do love you. I tried not to, but I can't help it."

"No, you don't," said Juliet again, even more deliberately. "You don't because I won't let you, Blair. Everything in that letter that wasn't true then is true now, only not so harsh. I would never have put things to you that way--that was Bea's doing. I'd love to love you, now that you love me, too, because it would uncomplicate things. I've been reading history lately, and I've discovered that we're supposed to learn from past mistakes. That's not something I've been very good at. But I can _learn_ to learn from them. I won't--can't--pretend to feel something that I don't."

The diamond on her left hand flashed as she gestured around.

"Ah," said Blair. "I see. I'm too late. Allan Miller, right? Well, he always had a hold on you. I knew you'd end up with him. I suppose you're destined to be together--even when we were betrothed I could see that you loved him, just weren't admitting it. Well, Juliet, I'm glad I saw you again, and we'll always be good friends. We've weathered one of the most trying times on earth together. I've got to run--we'll sit and talk someday, about everything. When you are Mrs. Allan Miller and I have quite forgotten how to love you."

He leaned in and kissed her softly and quickly on the lips and then walked just as quickly off, hands in his pockets. 

Juliet's heart pounded in her throat and she felt a strange, pain in her chest. A bittersweet pain. It was pain over what _might_ have been and now would never be. Even if we do not especially want something, it is disheartening to give up the possibility of it ever happening. 

"Maybe I should have said I'd love him again," she mused to herself in her room, later. "I'm sure I could--in time. If Allan comes and says he doesn't love me--and I'm sure he will--old New Moon's going to be lonely--lonelier than lonely."


	23. The First Day of Autumn

Juliet woke early the next day. The sun was just up over the horizon and the day was balmy and warm for late September. 

"It's the first day of autumn," Juliet lamented. "And the first day of autumn should be clear and crisp, not balmy and warm. But how good the sun feels!"

Uncle Perry and Aunt Ilse pulled up out front in their new Ford. It had such huge tail fins! It looked as if it would fly away! Mother and Father bustled out. They would all drive to the station to pick up Bella and Doug. Juliet waved them off, then went inside to start on her cake. 

She measured and mixed the ingredients, finding an easy rhythm in cooking that had disappeared during the war, when they had to figure out sneaky ways to get around the rationing. She plopped her cake in the oven and went out to the porch and basked in the sunshine, her hair and dress floury.

While she sat there she imagined how it would be when Allan came back to her. Maybe she'd be in town, in her new red coat and little rabbit fur hat. She'd turn her head to look over her shoulder--their eyes would meet--! Or she might even be here, on this very porch swing, in a dainty lawn dress, with her feet tucked neatly under her. She'd spy him walking up the lane and run out to meet him, the delicate fabric swishing around her legs--with one of the white June roses behind her ear! Who cared that it was fall, that the roses had been gone for months? One isn't limited in one's daydreams--all things are equally possibly. 

She supposed she snoozed for a bit, forgetting all about her cake. She remembered waking up once to arrange her head more comfortably on the pillow of the porch swing. Another time she woke, brow furrowed, trying to remember something important. But she couldn't remember, and let her head sink back on her pillowed arms. Something smelled so good

Then, all of a sudden, a deep voice was whispering in her ear. 

"Juliet. Juliet!"

She pulled her eyes open. 

There was a familiar face there, not five inches away from her own. A freckled face, with a strong jaw, and short, blond hair that had been lightened to white by the sun. A thin, short scar ran over one eye. The lips were curved into a sweet, satisfied smile. A face that was attached to the body of a lean, broad man in khaki, who was kneeling beside her.

Juliet knew that face. "This is--one--of _those_ dreams again?" she asked sleepily.

"No, darling," Allan Miller said. "I'm home. "

"Allan!" Juliet cried, and threw her arms around his neck, laughing and crying at the same time. What a strange feeling! What a wonderful thing it was to be able put your head against your true love's neck and cry--cry out all of the pain and frustration of the past years, and laugh will all of the happiness and joy that is owed you for that suffering. Allan held her until she stopped. Then Juliet pulled her head away and took his in her hands. 

"Did you come right _here_ from the station?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with joy and tears. "Oh, Allan--you did!"

"I had to," Allan said, smoothing the hair away from her face. "As soon as I got on the train at Charlottetown, all I could think of was you, sweetheart! The hum of the wheels seemed to be saying _New Moon--New Moon--New Moon!_ I was the first one to run off the train at the station and I didn't stop running until I was here. Darling Juliet," he took her hand, "I want to hear you say that you love me. I've waited so long to hear those words."

"I--_love_--you!" Juliet said. "But oh, Allan how did you _know_?"

Allan grinned. "First, you dear thing, you're wearing my ring on your left ring-finger. It was the first thing I saw as I made my way down the lane --you asleep on the porch swing and that diamond winking through the trees. I broke into a sprint when I saw _that_. The second reason I know is this." Allan reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a faded, folded letter. 

"_If you asked me again that dear question you asked the night before you left, I think I might give you a very different answer,"_ he read. "_it is my dearest wish that you _would_ ask again."_

"My letter!" Juliet cried. "I wrote that, yes--but I never sent it. How--did you--get it? I thought it was lost!"

"Bea found it," Allan said. "And sent it to me. Juliet, don't be mad at her! She wanted to show that she was sorry for meddling in the affair between you and Blair King. _I_ don't think she should be sorry--she's done her big brother quite a favor! Juliet, why didn't _you_ send this?"

"Oh," Juliet said, her cheeks flaming. "Because--from _your _letters--I thought you were in love. With that girl--Andalucia. It sounded as if you were! You wrote about how pretty and sweet she was. I was--jealous, I suppose."

Allan began to laugh and laugh. Juliet grew indignant. 

"What?" she said. "What's so funny?"

"Dearest," he said. "Would you like to see a picture of Andalucia Annunzio?" 

Juliet took the snapshot he handed her. 

It showed Allan, a bandage on his head sitting with a girl. A young girl. A _very_ young girl, in fact. Andalucia could not have been more than eight or nine years old. A very pretty eight or nine years old--but--eight or nine years old!

"What a fool I've been," Juliet whispered, her eyes glowing. 

"You are a little fool," said Allan. "But you're _my_ little fool."

He bent his head toward her and Juliet closed her eyes. But at the last moment he wrinkled his nose. 

"Is something burning?" he asked. 

"My cake," Juliet laughed. "It's burnt to a crisp but--I don't _care_. Oh, Allan, what is a cake when _you_ love me?"

She shamlessly put her arms around him, and they stood, cheek to cheek on the New Moon porch.They stayed that way for a long while, until they heard the crunch of car tires on the gravel road. 

"Allan!" Aunt Ilse cried, opening the car door and running to envelop her son in her arms. "You're home! Oh, _thank_ God!"

Mother and Father and Bea and Doug and Bella--could that be little Bella? She was huge!--all ran out of the car and surrounded them, laughing and chattering. Uncle Perry gave his son a bear hug that lifted him straight off the ground.

"Did you go home to Burnley Barrens first?" Uncle Perry asked. "By George, I knew you'd come on a day we were out! I said it to Ilse just yesterday, didn't I, Ilse? I said, I bet Allan comes when we've stepped out, comes right home to an empty house!"

Allan stepped back and shyly took Juliet's hand in his strong, capable one. 

"I came here first," he said proudly. "I came to collect my bride."

Oh, he still wanted her! He _did_ love her! 

"That is," Allan went on, "If you'll say yes this time? Say _yes_, Juliet! Like you promised you would. It's what kept me alive all this time, I'm sure of it."

Juliet did not have to say anything. She threw her arms around him and gazed into his eyes, as everyone else clapped, and cheered, and looked on happily. 

When they kissed, it was the sweetest thing.

***

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, guys! They really helped me through this. And also thanks to a lot of you for inspiring me with your awesome stories. Do you all want to know more about Juliet, or think that the story should stop here? Let me know. If there are also any more LMM characters you'd like to read a story about, let me know! I'm running out of ideas. 

Thanks again to the best reviewers on the best forum on fanfiction.net!


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